It was like a dream, too, when she woke in the chill, black morning. She dressed by candlelight in the brave new clothes. She had boot-hose, and a plumed hat, and gloves of soft leather, all complete. Then she went down the long stair, at Allison's side, into the shadowy hall, and there she met with dim shapes, cloaked and booted, that she knew for her comrades. Here were Dick Fowell, and Munn, and Rupert. At first she scarcely knew Rupert, for he was a gallant little figure, all in fine new clothes of a deep crimson hue. She drank a cup of steaming posset. She said farewell to Lady Caversham, and to Allison, and to Betteris. Lord Caversham she did not see again, for prudently he had no more speech with the sham Tibbott Venner. Then she trudged forth with her companions, and was mounted on a horse, a little horse of her own, and away they rode from Ryeborough castle. And as she felt the brisk air upon her face and saw the wintry dawn break round her, Merrylips came broad awake. At last she knew that it was no dream, but that indeed she was riding home to Walsover. Not till mid-morning, when Ryeborough and Will Lowry were miles behind them, did Dick Fowell give the word to draw rein at a village inn. There they rested and broke their fast. While Dick and Munn saw that the horses were well cared for, Merrylips and Rupert sat by the fire in the common room, and talked together. "'Twas my godfather gave me these clothes," said Rupert. "And he bade me, if I was not made welcome amongst mine own kin, come unto him again. He is right kind. I be sorry now for the hard things I have said of all rebels, since he himself is one." Then he sat silent and smoothed the silken lining of his doublet till he saw that Merrylips was watching him. He reddened, as if he were vexed with her and with himself that she should see how proud he was of his clothes, but next moment he said honestly:-- "Thou seest, these be the first garments ever I have worn were like a gentleman's. And oh! Merrylips--" he cast down his eyes and spoke fast--"thou art the only one in the world I would ask it of, but wilt thou not mark me, and when we are alone tell me whatever I have done amiss? For when I watch thee and thy brother, there's such a weary deal for me to learn! And for one thing," he ended, "maybe I should not 'thou' you, Merrylips." She was sorry for Rupert, for she had never seen him in this humble mood. She could not be quick enough to cheer him. "To be sure, I shall be right vexed with thee," she cried, "if thou dost call me 'you' so cold and formal. For we say 'thou' to those that we love, and thou and I, Rupert, are a'most kinsmen, and good comrades surely." He smiled at her. "That we are! And always shall be!" he said.