Her lips parted, but she was speechless. It flashed upon her that the printer of Tyndale's sheets was her own father, and if Cochlaeus came he would find them in the house, somewhere, she could not think where; but in that case the terrible picture in the fire was not imagination, but something too real--too fearful--and the day might not be far away when her father and William Tyndale would actually walk into the dungeon to face the tormentors. "Come with me, my child," said Byrckmann, standing up and staring before him with a face so full of pain that she was alarmed more than she already had been. He said no more, but went out of the room, carrying the lamp with him. She followed him into the workshop where the printing-presses were; then going to a room beyond, he walked to a corner where piles of paper stood. Giving her the lamp to hold, he cleared a space on the floor, and to her surprise she saw him go on his knees. Had trouble so overwhelmed him that he meant to pray? But it was not that. He drew a key from his pocket and inserted it in a hole from which he carefully scraped the dust. Standing up, he bade her drop back to the doorway, and, bending low, raised a portion of the floor, making it lean back against one of the printing machines. What she saw brought a cry of surprise to her lips, for she was gazing into a dark cellar. A printing-press stood in the centre of the stone floor below, and close by it was a great pile of paper. Following her father down the ladder, carrying the lantern with her, she looked around. Thrust up against the walls were other piles, and, going to one of them, she saw that they were printed folios. She picked up the top sheet and read it, and trembled, for it was a printed sheet of a part of the New Testament in English, which she was able to read; and now she understood why her father spoke of ruin being possible. She was realising the far-reaching consequences when she recalled what Cochlaeus had said. She almost whispered her words when she had looked around to be assured that they were alone. "Father, is it not perilous for these to be here?" She pointed to the pile on which she replaced the sheet she had been reading. "I only ask because of what that heretic hunter said, and especially after I have seen him and that other man in the street gazing at our home." There was silence. No sound came until a few moments later the cathedral bell boomed out the hour with slow and heavy strokes. "Can we not destroy all this, father?" Margaret asked, when the last sound of the bell came; and she crossed the floor to where her father stood in dumb perplexity. She laid her hand on his shoulder and looked into his face with glistening eyes.