But Rupert's face, as he looked at her, was not that of a quarrelsome little boy. It was a troubled, older face, such as she had not seen him wear. "Hide thou here in the bushes, Tibbott," he bade. "And stay thou hidden, whatever happen, till I come again." He did not make her his comrade so much as to tell her what he thought or feared or what he planned to do. But he chose a sheltered spot for her, deep among elder bushes and young birches, and he gave her the flask and what was left of the food. He bade her eat and drink and rest her there in safety. Then he tucked his pistol into his belt and trudged away alone over the hill to King's Slynton. There in the thicket Merrylips sat all day, and it was the longest day that ever she had known. At first she slept, but she could not sleep all the time. Then she watched the flights of rooks that winged across the sullen sky. She watched the rabbits that scurried through the copse below her. She built little houses of dead leaves and twigs and pebbles. All sorts of things she did, not to think of what might have happened to Rupert and be afraid. It was almost twilight when Rupert came back. He dropped down beside her under the bushes, and drew a long breath as if he were tired. "The rebels have taken King's Slynton," he said. Merrylips knew then that she had known that this would be his news. So she did not cry out or show fear. All she did was to ask him, "When?" "Yesterday," he answered. "They beat our men out of the village, and have set a garrison of their own ruffians in their stead." 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."