The morning broke chill and pale, with the first breath of autumn lying sharp upon the fields. A thin mist curled along the hedgerows, clinging to their clothes as the lovers walked, weary-footed, along the rutted lane. They had slept little, the earth beneath them hard, the night air cruel. Their bundle of belongings seemed heavier with each mile, and yet neither spoke of complaint. To voice such weakness would be to yield, and neither dared yield while the other remained steadfast.
The girl's face bore traces of fatigue, but her step was steady. She held her head high, as though every passer-by might witness not her fall from fortune, but the quiet majesty with which she endured it. Her beloved, meanwhile, walked with set jaw, his thoughts a torrent of shame and wrath. Each time her foot stumbled on the uneven ground, he felt his pride stab him anew, for he could not give her ease.
By noon they came to a small market town, its cobbled streets lively with stalls and chatter. The scents of baked bread and roasting meat wafted through the air, and the girl's heart clenched at the sharp reminder of their hunger. Her beloved noticed her glance, and his throat tightened. He longed to buy her food, to see her eat without fear of want—but his purse lay almost empty.
"Sit here," he said gently, guiding her to a stone bench by the fountain. "Rest a while. I shall see what may be done."
She tried to protest, but his look silenced her. He strode into the crowd, his heart burning. At one stall he inquired after work, offering his strength for lifting or loading. At another he begged for a chance to sweep or carry goods. Everywhere the answer was the same—polite refusal, or cold silence. Some avoided his gaze altogether, as though poverty itself were contagious. Others muttered that they could not risk displeasing Lady Ashbourne, whose shadow reached even into this town.
When at last he returned to her, his hands were empty, his face haggard. She rose at once, her smile tender though faint. "It matters not. We have endured worse. Come, let us walk on."
---
They left the town and followed the river's winding course. The sun fell low, burnishing the water with gold, yet in their hearts there was no light. Hunger gnawed at them, and the bundle seemed to weigh like a stone. At length they found a sheltered hollow where the trees bent low, their branches interlacing overhead. There they spread their cloak upon the earth and sat together, silent save for the murmur of the river.
Her beloved broke the silence first, his voice hoarse with frustration. "This cannot last. I will not see you waste away for want of bread. I should beg upon the road before I suffer that shame."
She caught his hand swiftly, her eyes fierce though her body trembled with weariness. "No. You shall not beg. Better we starve with dignity than live upon alms. I chose this life, remember—I chose you. If hunger is the price, then I pay it gladly."
Her words pierced him with both pride and pain. He clasped her hand against his breast, his voice breaking. "You shame me with your courage. Would that I had half your strength. I swear to you, I will find some way—any way—to win us bread."
She leaned her head against his shoulder, her eyes closing. "And I swear to you, I will never regret the choice I made. Not for hunger, not for hardship, not for the whole world's scorn."
---
The night deepened, and with it the cruelty of the air. They lay close, wrapped in their cloak, their bodies chilled despite the warmth of their embrace. Sleep came only in fragments, broken by the cry of an owl or the rustle of branches. Once, waking in the small hours, the girl gazed upward at the cold scatter of stars.
"Do you remember," she whispered, "how we first spoke of them? How we said they would be our roof, should all else fail?"
He stirred, tightening his arm around her. "I remember. But I had not thought then how bitter a roof it would prove."
She smiled faintly, though he could not see it in the dark. "Bitter, perhaps. But beautiful still."
---
Morning found them weak and hollow-eyed. They set out again, following the road as though it might lead somewhere kinder. At times they passed travellers in carriages, who glanced at them with idle curiosity before rolling on. At other times villagers overtook them, some nodding kindly, others sneering.
By afternoon the girl's strength faltered. Her steps grew slower, her breath short. Her beloved, alarmed, begged her to rest. They came upon a fallen log and there she sank, her face pale as linen. He knelt beside her, anguish in his eyes.
"Forgive me," he whispered. "Forgive me that I bring you to this."
She touched his cheek with trembling fingers. "Hush. You bring me to nothing but love. Do not let the world persuade you otherwise."
---
It was then, as if summoned by fate, that a horseman appeared upon the road. He drew up sharply at the sight of them—Harrington. His eyes widened at the hollow faces, the threadbare garments, the bundle at their feet.
"In Heaven's name," he cried, leaping down, "is this how I find you? Cast out, wandering, without bread or roof?"
The girl rose, though unsteady, her pride unbowed. "Mr Harrington—we are as we must be. We endure, and we endure together."
Her beloved's eyes hardened, wary of charity, but Harrington's expression was one of unfeigned distress. "This is barbarity. To drive you into the road—no honourable heart could bear such knowledge. Permit me to aid you—if not for your sake, then for hers."
The girl's beloved stiffened, his pride and shame warring within him. But before he could speak, she laid a gentle hand upon his arm. Her eyes met Harrington's, soft yet resolute. "Your kindness does us honour. But we must walk the road we chose, bitter though it be. Should the day come when our strength fails, perhaps then we shall seek your aid. Until then, we ask only your prayers."
Harrington bowed, his throat tight. "You have them—my prayers, my loyalty, my heart's unceasing wish for your welfare." He lingered a moment, as though to say more, then mounted once again and rode away, his figure soon lost to the horizon.
The lovers sat together once more, the silence deep about them. Hunger, cold, and weariness pressed close, yet between their hands, clasped fast, there still flowed a current of unbroken strength.