But there Merrylips broke in upon him. She had been peering at him sharply, and now she cried:—
"Where's thy pistol, Rupert?"
It was not so dark but that she could see how he reddened. He tried to speak roughly and angrily, but in the end he blurted out the truth.
"They took my pistol from me, there in the village," he said. "I had to venture in among them to get news. They said—the rebel soldiers said—that I must have stolen it, at the time the town was taken. They took my pistol and what money was in the pockets of my doublet. They would have searched me further, but one of their officers came up and bade them let me go. And then he set me to clean his horse's stall. I've been fetching and carrying all day—for thy rebel friends, Tibbott Venner."
Rupert spoke the jeer half-heartedly, and Merrylips made no answer. Both were too tired and frightened to quarrel. For some time they sat in silence, while the chill shadows gathered round them. Deep in the thicket the owls began to hoot.
"Is there aught of food left?" asked Rupert, suddenly. "I'm nigh famished."
In answer Merrylips laid the packet on the ground between them. Rupert opened it, and looked at what lay within—the dry end of a loaf, a slice of beef, and some crumbs of cheese. Then he looked at Merrylips.
"Hast thou not eaten all this day?" he asked. "I bade thee, Tibbott."
"I waited—to share with thee," Merrylips answered, and somehow she choked upon the words.
"Thou art a little fool," said Rupert, angrily.