"I know it now, and since I have told my wife what lies before us, she was willing, and is like me, like you, my son, and like our darling—we are all in God's hands. We will start to-night. I will go upstairs and bid my dear one get ready."
When he came back, Herman watched, and saw that he had brushed away some tears from his face. He did not speak, but, taking two strong leathern wallets from the wall, he went to the strong box in the corner of the room, and, unlocking it, drew forth a heavy bag and set it on the table. The chink of gold sounded as it touched the board.
"Herman," he said quietly, "this was set apart for Margaret—her bridal gift. I give it over to you for her. Use that wallet, for its safe keeping."
He returned to the box and brought two more bags, bulky and heavy like that at which Herman was staring in speechless wonder. Bringing them to the table, he placed them in the capacious wallet, which bulged with its burden, and then, while Herman followed his example, he flung it over his shoulder, and drew over it and himself his heavy cloak.
"God has been very good, my son," he said softly. "He is not sending us forth scripless and moneyless. Here is ample for our needs, even if it should prove our all, and I am thankful."
He fell on his knees at the table, and bent his head between his hands in prayer, and while he knelt someone stole into the room, ready cloaked, but pale, and went down by his side and put her arm about him.
"Let us go forth, dear heart," she said. "I long to see my child, and wherever God sends us, it is well."
The moments were very few before they stood in the doorway looking into the dark street. Almost like thieves in the night, when they had pulled the door after them and heard the latch fall quietly, they stole across the street into the dark alley, the mother with a man on either side of her.