The beginning of the retreat had been brisk enough—­so brisk that it outpaced his Majesty’s movement in flank:  who, breasting the hill with his cavalry (after some minutes lost at the ford in collecting the cannon and muskets which might well have been gleaned later) found himself, if anything, in the rear of his victorious footmen.  But after two miles, coming to that part of the ridge where it narrows above Lawhibbet, and in view of our old earthwork which was yet pretty strongly held by their artillery, the enemy made a more forcible resistance, fighting the several hedges and, even when dislodged, holding them with a hot skirmishing fire while the main body found the next cover.  By these checks we two, who had lost ground at the start, now regained it fast; and by and by (towards ten o’clock as I guess) were forced to pick our way under shelter of the hedges, to avoid the enemy’s bullets and espial by any of the King’s men, who would doubtless have cursed and driven us back out of the way of danger.

It was Margery who bethought her here of a sunken cart-road descending along the right of the ridge and crossed on its way by another which would lead us to the summit again and within two gunshots of the great earthwork.  By following these two roads we might outflank the soldiery while keeping the crown of the ridge between us; for the fighting still followed along the left-hand slope, above the river.

This way, to be sure, was reasonably safe for a while; but must lead us out, if we persisted, into close danger—­perhaps into the very interval between the fighting lines, and if at the rebels’ rear, then certainly between them and their artillery on the earthwork.  As we ran I tried to prove this to Margery.  She would not listen:  indeed I doubt that she heard me.  “He must,” “he must,” she kept saying:  and I thought sure she had taken leave of her wits.

It happened as I warned her.  The second cart-track, mounting from the valley bottom, led us up to the high road on the ridge; and there, peering out cautiously, I spied the backs of a rebel company posted across it, a bare two hundred yards away towards Lostwithiel.  Their ranks parted and I had time enough, and no more, to push Margery into the ditch and fling myself beside her among the brambles before a team of horses swept by at a gallop, with a cannon bumping on its carriage behind them and dragging a long cloud of dust.

“Quick!” called Margery as it passed:  sprang to her feet and across the road in the noise and smother.  Choking with dust and anger I followed, almost on all-fours.

“But what folly is this?” I demanded, overtaking her by the opposite hedge.

“I know what I am doing,” she said.  “They did not see—–­the dust hid us.  Now quick again, and help me up to this hazel-bush.”