Herman's teeth chattered, although the night was warm, for the thought of William Tyndale's extremity sent an icy shiver down his spine. All the bold effort to get the good man away had come to naught. There was the deadly fear of what might follow, added to the bitterness of a frustrated plan and the thought that God's Word was not to reach the people of England after all. He resolved to do whatever remained possible. He would wait and see what was done to Tyndale--where he might be placed by the robber lord. Then to his alert mind came the thought that he might even yet be able to get Tyndale away. But how, or what the way might be, only the good God could tell. There was no sound of fighting. Instead, the laughter of the soldiers came over the waters. Their steel helmets bobbed here and there, and Herman knew that the men were searching the ship for anything in the way of booty--money or goods. Presently the first things came in the shape of bales, possibly of silks, which were dropped over the side into the boats. Other bundles followed, but only what was of value, for these soldiers were experienced pillagers who spent their days and nights in this sort of work. They knew what things were of worth, and what the lord of the castle would be able to turn into gold. Boat-load after boat-load came to the bank, the booty was handed out to men on the bank, and the boats returned for more. Herman was startled by a sound on his right hand, and, looking round quickly, he saw half a dozen men emerge from among the trees and stand out clear in the moonlight. He saw the newcomers' faces, and he dropped back farther into the shades of the forest, for one of them was Cochlaeus. For a while these men gazed on the unexpected scene, and Herman, watching, saw how the face of the heretic hunter worked with passion--the fury of a man who thought he had but to overtake the ship, and ask for Tyndale, and he would have him in his power, but now discovered that the Englishman was beyond his reach. They were near enough for Herman to hear what was said. "Is this Schouts' place?" Cochlaeus asked, pointing towards the castle, and speaking in hoarse and passionate tones. "Yes," said the Dean; "so that there is danger for us as well as for those who are on board the ship." "Danger for us?" exclaimed Cochlaeus, in amazement. "Danger for me, an emissary of the Church?" "Schouts cares no more for the Church than for the meanest man on board the _Marburg_. He has no fear for God or man." Cochlaeus gazed at him incredulously, and when the Dean and the others drew back among the trees, he stood clear out in the moonlight and waved his clenched fists, in the impotence of his disappointment.