"You can?" the others cried, startled by the forester's words, and impressed with his confidence. "Yes, I can!" mumbled Engel, who seemed to grow hungrier as the moments sped. "And what's your plan?" asked Roye, drawing his stool up to the table, where he leant forward and gazed at the ranger. "Is it sure?" he went on, laying his hand on the other's arm. "Or is it possible that you may fail and leave us to our disappointment, and my master to his death?" His face was pale and his voice eager and tremulous, while his eyes gleamed as though they were not far from tears. The ranger swallowed his mouthful, and then he answered as earnestly as Roye: "Neither of you shall be disappointed, please God, if you choose to throw in your lot with me and make this venture. You will possibly say 'tis a desperate thing to do. You may even deem me mad. I know not what you may say or think when I tell you what I mean to do. God only knows what you may say about it--that it is like putting one's head into a noose if by any means the plan should fail." Engel's meal was ended now, and, getting up from the table, he carried his stool with him and sat before the fire, and sprawled his crossed feet to catch the warmth of the burning logs. "I suppose nine out of ten, not knowing what I know, would say it was a madman's venture, but I'll tell you exactly what is at the back of my mind, and you shall say 'yes' or 'no,' according to what you think, when I have had my say." The others pulled their stools to the fireside and listened; but while he unfolded his plan they thought he must be mad. Yet when they looked at his face they felt they were mistaken. He had evidently planned the whole thing out, basing this desperate scheme on his knowledge of the castle and not on mere supposition. They shrank from the venture which the forester proposed, for there could be but one ending to it, without benefiting William Tyndale in the slightest degree. On the very face of it, it was doomed to failure, and it might end in death for them all. "You are only telling us of the bare possibilities, Otto!" Herman exclaimed, when the ranger had ended. "You surely do not mean that we shall make such a wild attempt?" The ranger swung round on his stool and faced Herman, but did not speak until he once more turned to gaze into the midst of the burning logs, leaning forward as though he saw pictures among them. "I am telling you of something more than possibilities," he said presently. "I count what I propose as a certainty, and I mean to try my plan. I shall be glad to have you with me, but if you are afraid--and it's not to be wondered at if you are--I will do the thing alone; only the task will be so much the harder, and the risks will be greater because it will take so much longer time. God helping me, the man on whom so much depends shall be freed!"