So Merrylips was perched on the saddle in front of Claus Hinkel. And for the first half mile that she rode, she wondered what would happen to her, now that she was left in the care of the man whom she so distrusted. For the next half mile she had a new fear. What if Claus should recognize her as the little maid that he had seen at Larkland, and tell every one that she was no boy? But she must have been wholly changed by eighteen months of time and the boy's dress. Though she held her breath and waited to hear Claus tell her secret, hers and Munn's, he said not a word. By this time Merrylips and Claus had worked their way through the mass of men with whom they had left Storringham. They had now caught up with the vanguard, which had marched out of the village an hour before them. With the van went the creaking wains and the herd of cattle. Over all hung a cloud of dust that shone in the light of the setting sun. Soon the sun had sunk in a red smear of cloud behind the hills to westward. Over the brown fields that lay on either hand the twilight fell. In the hollows and where the road wound beneath trees it was quite dark. Merrylips could see the men and horses round her only as dim shapes in the blackness. But all the time she could hear the padding of hoofs on the road, the jingle of bits, the squeak of stirrup leathers, and the heavy breathing of horses and of men. From time to time, too, she heard sharp orders from Lieutenant Crashaw, who rode at the head of the troop, and low mutterings that passed from man to man. They were moving slowly, because of the darkness and because of the cattle and the wains, which could not be hurried. She felt that all were uneasy at this slowness, and then she herself became uneasy. After what seemed a long, long time the moon broke through the clouds and flung black shadows on the road. They moved a little faster now. Presently they passed through a straggling village that lay along a brook. No lights were burning in the cottages, and many of the doors stood open to the night wind. From the talk of the men about her Merrylips guessed that the Cavaliers had served this village as they had served Storringham, later in the morning, and that in fear of their return the village folk had stolen away. In all the length of the village they heard no sound, except the dreary howling of a dog, far off in the darkness. They saw no human creature, until they came to a little bridge, by which they must cross the stream. There, on the parapet, a lean man in fluttering rags sprang up and mowed and gibbered at them. "Hey! Go bet!" he cried, in a shrill voice that showed that his mind was empty. "Whip and spur! Whip and spur! Hatcher of Horsham will learn ye better speed. Ride, ride, ye robbers! Ye'll never outride Hatcher and his men."