"Nay, I must go to the mill first," said the forester, catching at the bridle to prevent Tyndale from riding into the open. "Herman, keep a sharp watch. Get back, each one of you, into the shadows, where you can see and not be seen." The forester moved onward while he spoke, and put his horse to the canter. They saw him drop out of the saddle and knock at the door of the mill. The sound of his loud tapping reached those who were watching; then a woman's head and her white linen-covered shoulders appeared at one of the windows. They heard an exclamation of pleasure, and the head and shoulders disappeared, and before long Engel entered by the open door. Before many minutes had passed he came away from the mill, his heavy boots brushing among the dewy grass. "Come," he cried, before he reached them, beckoning with his hand. Before long the whole company were in the mill; the horses were at the door, munching oats hungrily, after which they turned to the meadow to sleep out the remainder of the night; but as for the others, Mary Engel, when she had set food before them, went to prepare for their comfort in the safe hiding-place of which the forester had spoken. * * * * * * * Two days went by, and none but Engel ventured out of the mill. The others stayed within doors, always ready to go into hiding if the warning came. They were content, because they realised the absolute safety they enjoyed in the great cap of the mill, into which, when they entered it, they could draw the ladder, and shut down the heavy trap-door, leaving the place unsuspected. From a small window here and there they could see the country for miles. In the far distance was the city that had been their home. In the other direction lay the city they were eager to reach so soon as it was safe to venture; and between rolled the winding, stately river, with its rich forest beauty, and hiding among the trees lay castles that won for themselves a doubtful reputation. William Tyndale was absorbed in his work, but the others often watched what was going on outside. "Did you hear the sound of firing?" Margaret asked, one fine evening, before she would say "Good-night," and go to bed. She was gazing out of the window while she spoke. "Yes, I heard it!" Herman exclaimed, coming to her side, and taking his place at the tiny window. "There it is again. And again. 'Tis like the discharge of cannon." The cannonading lasted for some time, and they listened in wonder, but thought of those soldiers and the cannon that had passed them in the forest. "Does it mean war, Herman?" Margaret asked. "I can't think it does," he answered.