The boat had wound its tortuous way for many minutes before Porringer said in a low voice: "We can speak safely now. There is nothing human moving on these flats unless the witch, Margery, is abroad. Cursed may she be, and cursed those who give her shelter and food and raiment and lay offerings at her door, for surely it is written, ’Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’" "Is there anything a Muggletonian will not curse?" asked Landless. "Yea," answered the other complacently. "There are ourselves, the salt of the earth. There are a thousand or more of us." "And the remainder of the inhabitants of the earth are reprobate and doomed?" "Yea, verily, they shall be as the burning of lime, as thorns cut up will they be burned in the fire." "Then why have you to do with me, and with the man to whom we are going?" "Because it is written: ’Make ye friends of the mammon of unrighteousness;’ and moreover there be degrees even in hell fire. I do not place you, who have some inkling of the truth, nor the Independents and Fifth Monarchy men (as for the Quakers they shall be utterly damned) in the furnace seven times heated which is reserved for the bigoted and bloody Prelatists who rule the land, swearing strange oaths, foining with the sword, and delighting in vain apparel; keeping their feast days and their new moons and their solemn festivals. They are the rejoicing city that dwells carelessly, that says in her heart, ’I am, and there is none beside me.’ The day cometh when they shall be broken as the breaking of a potter’s vessel, yea, they shall be violently tossed like a ball into a far country." Here they struck a snag, well-nigh capsizing the boat. When she righted, and Landless had bailed her out with a gourd, they proceeded in silence. Landless was in no mood for speech. He did not know where they were going, nor for what purpose, nor did he greatly care. He meant to escape, and that as soon as his strength should be recovered and he could obtain some knowledge of the country, and he meant to take no one into his counsel, not the Muggletonian, whose own attempts had ended so disastrously, nor the ’man who gave good advice.’ As to this midnight expedition he was largely indifferent. But it was something to escape from the stifling atmosphere of the cabin where he had tossed from side to side, listening to the heavy breathing of the convict, Turk, and peasant lad with whom he was quartered, to the silver peace of moon-flooded marsh and lapping water. They made another turn, and in front of them shone out a light, gleaming dully like a will-of-the-wisp. It looked close at hand, but the creek turned upon itself, coiled and writhed through the marsh, and trebled the distance. The Muggletonian rested on his oar, and turned to Landless.