Several times Quivven stumbled and fell, until at last her companion had to help her in order to keep her going at all. But, in spite of this assistance, she finally broke down and cried.
“I shall not go one step farther,” she asserted.
Myles seated himself beside her and talked to her as one would soothe a child. And that was what she was, a tired little child.
“You can’t stay here,” he urged, “the ground is damp, the night is coming on, and your fur is sopping wet.”
“I don’t care anything about anything,” she sobbed. “All that I know is that I positively cannot go on.”
So he decided that it would be necessary to change his tactics. “I am ashamed of you,” he replied, “You, the daughter of a king, and can’t stand a little exercise! Why, I believe you are just plain lazy.”
For reply she jumped to her feet in a sudden rage. “Oh, you beast!” she cried. “You insulting beast! You common soldier, you! I’ll show you that I can stand as much hardship as the pampered womenfolk of your Cupia, though the men of my country, even our common soldiers, would be gentlemanly enough not to force a lady to endure any more than is absolutely necessary. Oh, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”
“You are not being forced to endure more than is necessary,” her escort harshly replied. “In the first place it is necessary to go on; and, in the second place, I am not forcing you. You can go on or not, just as you see fit, but as for me, I don’t intend to spend the night here in this wet valley. Good-by!”
For reply Quivven raced ahead of him with, “Oh, how I hate you!” and disappeared around a turn in the trail.