"See!" he said, taking one of the bars; and, scraping away some of the mortar which was powdered only, but carefully catching every grain in his cap so that none should be wasted and fall to the floor, he drove the bar far into a hitherto unseen hole so that it stayed firm in the wall. He took the rope, and, making a strong loop at one end, he passed it over this, and they understood. The last that came could lower himself by sliding down the rope, whereas the others could be let down safely with a loop and a sliding knot about their body. "Who will go first?" asked Heinrich. "Someone who can help the women when their turn comes," suggested the forester. "Suppose you go first, Herman. Then Mistress Margaret, and then her mother, and her father to follow. After that, either Heinrich or myself." The noose went round Herman's body, under his arms, and, not to lay any strain on the others, he threw out the whole of the rope that was at liberty, and suffered himself to go down, hand under hand, until his feet touched the ground below. He loosened the rope, and when it was drawn back, Margaret came to the window, and he dimly saw her sitting in the loop and clinging to the rope while they were lowering her gently, but swaying in the furious wind. Before many moments she was in his arms, and he covered her face with kisses. "God is going to send us into safety," she answered, throwing her arms about his neck and clinging to him in the darkness until it was time to render service to her mother, whose turn was next. The last to come was Heinrich, who had gone down that rope so many times, and they gathered about him to bless and thank him for what he had done. "Heinrich," said Margaret, taking him by the hand, "in God's dear mercy you have been our deliverer. We owe so much to you--our lives, I doubt not, and our liberty." He stood and gazed at her in happy laughter. "'Twas God who made me your helper," he said, his voice thrilling with gladness. "But you must be gone. Yonder is the forest, and the forester knows it well. He can lead you there ten times better than I. Now I am going back to my mother, for if Cochlaeus has bought those vaults he will not fail to find his way into our home. We must find another. Perhaps they will suffer us to live in this house we have just left." "God speed you!" he exclaimed, careless of the wind and rain, and holding out his hand to each of them in turn, but keeping Margaret for the last. When she gave him hers, he drew off her glove and covered the hand with kisses, not heeding how the rain came like pellets on his uncovered head. She knew not whether the drops which fell on her hand were rain or tears. "Good-bye, Heinrich," she said, almost weeping. "I shall never forget. Oh, never! I shall never fail to remember how you were ready to give your life for mine."