"'Twas a dangerous absent-mindedness," said Herman, almost sharply, looking round while he spoke, to make sure that none were near enough to observe them. While he did so, Tyndale hurried to the bush, followed by his companion, and they hid themselves in the shadows, with the others. "Now, my dear Roye, explain yourself," said Tyndale, almost peremptorily, sitting on the grass in a place so dark that one could scarcely see the other. "Why did you stay away so long? I have been working feverishly and unceasingly all these weeks, and the Lord's work has tarried because I have but this one poor pair of hands to do the work of two." "Hush, master," the response came quietly. "In some degree I am to blame, but not so much as it would appear." Tyndale answered half reproachfully, for now that the pleasure of meeting had given place to reflection, he felt that the man for whom he had sent so urgently had failed him, and hindered his task. So many weeks had gone. "I cannot but blame you, whatever your excuse!" he exclaimed. "Oh, master, do not say that. Let me explain. Your letter found me, and I read it by the light of a street lamp. Perhaps it was the act of a madman, but a lad gave it to me by night when I was out walking. He dogged my steps until we were in a quiet street, and he caught up to me and whispered: "'Are you William Roye?' "'Yes, but why?' I asked, rather startled, for I thought I was an unknown man among strangers. "'Then I have to give you this,' and he thrust your letter into my hand, and seemed to vanish in the darkness. I knew at once that it came from you, for I know your handwriting so well. I broke the seal and began to read, but by the time I got to the end and saw your name I was startled. I chanced to look up, and saw two black-robed figures coming towards me." Roye stopped, and clasped his hands convulsively, as if the memory of it, even, was overwhelming. "Were they Familiars?" asked Tyndale eagerly. "Yes, master. Hear you me, Master Tyndale?" he exclaimed hoarsely, his voice little more than a whisper. "They were Familiars. You know what need I have to dread them, yes, and to curse them," he went on, wringing his hands, his breath catching with a sob. "Did they not, or the City Guard for them, which was all the same--did they not come to my home and take my darling Gertrude from me to that dark dungeon of theirs? "But these men came on me unexpectedly in the street; and they came with that horrible, weird tread, almost soundless, and so the more fearful. I stood where I was, beneath the street lamp, transfixed, holding the letter in my hand, and staring at them, open-mouthed. "They must have seen that I was desperately frightened. Oh, fool that I was! I was betraying myself to those black-souled, black-robed night-hawks, and there was the letter trembling in my hand!