Two or three stout fellows from just beneath the pillory elbowed their way to her side and grasped her arms.
Phoebe with indignant face seized the arm of the man nearest her and pulled lustily to free her sister.
"Stand aside, you knaves!" she cried, hotly. "Know your betters and keep your greasy hands for the sluttish queans of Southwark streets!"
The lads only grinned and tightened their hold. Rebecca was struggling fiercely and in silence, save for an occasional shriek of fear.
"Good people, will ye see a lady tousled by knavish street brawlers! What ho--a rescue--a Burton--a Burton--a rescue--ho!"
Her voice rose high above the coarse laughter and chatter of the crowd.
The crowd parted to right and left with screams and imprecations, and on a sudden two horsemen reined up their steeds beside the sisters.
"Back, ye knaves! Unhand the lady!" cried the younger of the two, striking out with his whip at the heads of Rebecca's captors.
Putting up their hands to ward off these blows, the fellows hastily retreated a few steps, leaving Rebecca and Phoebe standing alone.
"What's here!" cried the young man. "God warn us, an it be not fair Mistress Burton herself!"
He leaped from his horse, and with the bridle in one hand and his high-crowned hat in the other, he advanced, bowing toward the sisters.
He was a strongly built young man of middle height. His smooth face, broad brow, and pleasant eyes were lighted up by a happy smile wherein were shown a set of strong white teeth all too rare in the England of his time. His abundant blond hair was cut short on top, but hung down on each side, curling slightly over his ears. He wore a full-skirted, long-sleeved jerkin secured by a long row of many small buttons down the front. A loose lace collar lay flat over his shoulders and chest. His French hose was black, and from the tops of his riding-boots there protruded an edging of white lace.
He wore a long sword with a plain scabbard and hilt, and on his hands were black gloves, well scented.
Phoebe's face wore a smile of pleased recognition, and she stretched forth her right hand as the cavalier approached.
"You come in good time, Sir Guy!" she said.
"In very sooth, most fair, most mellific damsel, your unworthy servitor was erring enchanted in the paradise of your divine idea when that the horrific alarum did wend its fear-begetting course through the labyrinthine corridors of his auricular sensories."