Sometimes they slept, and sometimes they ate and drank, and sometimes from their hilltop they scanned the country round them. Near at hand, in the open fields, they saw hinds that went about their work, and in the distance twice, to their alarm, they saw squads of mounted men that sped along an unseen road.
"Will those be Roundheads?" Merrylips asked.
"What an if they be?" jeered Rupert. "Thou hast a kindness unto all rebels, young Venner. Mayhap 'tis thy dear comrade, Dick Fowell, and be hanged unto him!"
For, as if they had not troubles enough, these two foolish children were making matters worse by keeping up their quarrel. Not one kind word did they exchange from the moment of their leaving Monksfield. Rupert looked down upon his companion for a weakling and a coward. And Merrylips, for her own part, vowed that she would never ask help or kindness of him—no, not if she died for it!
So in angry silence they took up their march again when night came down. The sky was overcast, and the path was hard to find. Once they went astray and wandered into a bog, where the water oozed icily cold into their shoes.
"A brave guide art thou!" Merrylips taunted Rupert. "Thou to be set to care for me, forsooth!"
"Hold thy peace!" snapped Rupert. "I'll have thee safe at King's Slynton with the daybreak, and blithe I'll be then to wash my hands of thee, thou pestilent brat!"
"Brat thyself!" retorted Merrylips. "Thou'rt no more than a lad. And if thou art glad to be rid of me, 'tis ten times as glad I am at thought of quitting thee and coming once more amongst gentlemen."
As soon as Merrylips had spoken those last words, she knew that she had wounded Rupert cruelly. But she was so cold and footsore and wretched that she was glad to have made him suffer in his turn. Besides, she had meant what she had said. It would indeed be pleasant to set foot in the mess-room at King's Slynton, and to be warmly greeted and petted by the officers there, as she had been by the friends that she had left ungratefully behind her.
Upheld by the thought of this welcome that awaited her, Merrylips dragged herself along at Rupert's heels all that dreary night. As worn-out a little girl as ever masked herself in boy's clothes, she saw the dawn at last break grayly over the eastern hills. The bare trees stood out from the mist, and the fields changed color from leaden hue to brown. Over the next hill, she hoped, would be King's Slynton, but she would not speak to Rupert, not even to ask that question.