Why have a care? Their pursuers were outrun. They had the whole wide world in which to hide—the whole wide world, which was full to the brim with glorious adventure. They asked nothing beyond the comradeship of each other. Let chance continue to serve them for their modest need.
For their luncheon they took a young turnip out of a field. But this did not prove a very satisfying bill of fare. Alas! they soon began to crave an ampler meal. Nor did this craving grow less when early in the afternoon the sun went behind a cloud and presently a cool wind arose accompanied by the threat of rain.
Turnips are doubtless excellent things, but they are little enough upon which to maintain the fires of youth. Thus were they driven, at whatever risk to their lives, to strike out again toward the haunts of men. Again was Gervase consumed by a desire to barter the silver-hilted dagger for a flageolet by means of which he reckoned to get pence, or failing that, he hoped to turn the superfluous weapon into current coin of the realm.
They passed through several hamlets, but in none did the opportunity arise of fulfilling these desires. Moreover charity was lacking, so that by sundown a bitter hunger took them in its grip. To add to their woes they were again growing footsore and there had come a change in the weather. The wind had a sting in it and the heavy gray clouds were flying low.
Anne, however, was the bravest companion. She trudged along patiently by the side of Gervase and nothing would make her admit that she was hungry or weary or afraid. But had it not been for the solace of each other’s company they must have given in long before they did. Each was sustained by the other’s valor. Yet with night at hand, supperless and without a roof for their heads, heaven knew what would befall them now.
At last, when the cold twilight had come down on the woods and fields, they felt no longer able to go on. They rested awhile by the side of the road. Gervase nestled Anne’s cheek against his coat, and it seemed like ice.
“Poor soul,” he whispered, and could hardly restrain his tears.
It was quite dark by the time they had gathered the strength to continue their journey. At first their limbs were so stiff that they could hardly walk. But the bitter wind, the heavy darkness and the threat of rain spurred them cruelly. Their strides grew shorter and shorter, they fell sick at heart, yet they did not complain of one another or of Providence.
On and on they trudged until they were like to drop. Exactly what they hoped to find in that inhospitable night was more than they could have told. Perhaps some hovel or shepherd’s hut or a byre with cows in it was the bourne of their desire. But the weary miles passed by and none of these things came to them.
After a time they turned from the hard and bleak high road, which gave no protection from the merciless wind, again into the fields. They felt now that they could not walk another mile. Utterly weary and dispirited, they still clung to the slender hope of finding shelter in a wood wherein to pass the remainder of the night. But the country now was flat and cheerless. It contained little else than low-lying marsh-land fringed with stunted willow-trees.