"I was dressing to come round to see your father," he said, before long, gazing at her as she stood in the lantern's light, looking radiant in her young beauty, her laughing face betraying the fact that in her love for Herman she had banished all her care. "My father!" she exclaimed archly. "Would you dress like that to see him?" But he smothered her with kisses as soon as he had set down the lamp, and his hands were free. "I am come on business, Herman," she said presently. "Father sent me with a message for Master Tyndale." "He is in the cavern," said Herman doubtfully. "Let me go to him at once," Margaret exclaimed, leading the way to the front room, and going into the darkness before Herman had brought the light; but ere long she was face to face with Tyndale. "My father told me to say to you, 'Get you gone out of the city, for Cochlaeus is on your track.' He has been to our home to search for your printed sheets." "And did he find them?" Tyndale asked anxiously. "No. My father anticipated his coming, and the bundles are all on board a ship called the _Marburg_, now lying at the quay. She leaves to-night. He suggests that you should go through the cavern, of which I told him, and wait at the riverside, where you or Herman will send an owl's cry over the water as the vessel passes. He is gone to Gropper's house to bid him see the skipper, and ask him to leave at ten o'clock to-night. He is to listen for the owl's call, and take you on board." There was no need for haste. Quietly and persistently Tyndale gathered up his few belongings. Some were most precious, but woe for him if Cochlaeus laid hands on them. He set them on the table at which he had been working when Margaret entered the lonely underground room, and he suffered her to look at them. One was a New Testament, the Latin version by Erasmus. The other was the Vulgate, and from these two books he was basing his translation into English for the people at home to read. There was so much more than when he entered the city, a worn-out traveller, borne in Herman's arms. Then it was the heavy wallet, swung pilgrim-like on his shoulder, holding these precious volumes, and two or three necessaries, but no more. Now there were sheets on which he had laboured incessantly, almost feverishly, page after page, making a heap of papers, each scored over and corrected before he placed it on the pile with the others. These had to go with a few proofs which had come from Byrckmann's shop, smudged and rough from the printing-press. They had to be wrapped about with something, and presently they were ready to be borne in the wallet like a soldier's knapsack. "A dangerous burden," said Tyndale quietly, when it lay on the table, "but a precious one; and in God's mercy it may more than balance much of the wickedness and sorrow in the world," he added, with kindling enthusiasm.