Margaret went back to her mother, singing softly as she went from place to place in the bedroom, putting things right, and making the chamber look more cosy. When she moved it was with a tender grace. When she spoke it was with a gladness and a smile that were restful to the sick mother on the bed.
Who could wonder? That string of visions was passed at all events for the present. Her father, so far, was safe. But at odd times, when she moved about the house, she stopped to say a prayer, pleading that the dear Lord would keep the secret from that ignoble Cochlaeus, and all others who were scenting heresy, and striving to find Master Tyndale and all who had dealings with him. Their success meant so much. Ruin for her father! Ah!—and she went pale at the thought—ruin for Herman!
As the day went on the relief gave place to anxiety.
Her heart grew more and more heavy, for after the first revulsion from that deadly fear her memory served her with a cruelty that was hard to bear. It brought back all that happened the night before. That coming of the man on the stairs of Cropper's home; the enforced but unintentioned eavesdropping outside the door on the landing, and hearing what Cochlaeus knew; and, later still, the watchers in the street just opposite her father's house. It was terrible to contemplate the possibilities, for who could tell whether that paper from the Burgomaster was a blind—something to throw her father off his guard? She shivered at the thought; then she went so hot that she drew her dainty kerchief from her bosom to wipe the dampness from her face.
A change came over her father which greatly puzzled her. She could not understand how he could move among the workmen, and be so cheerful, and smile so comfortably at the customers who bought things over the counter of the shop. Not one among them would have suspected that he had been faced with death, and even now might see the Captain of the Guard enter, and take him away.
She did what under other circumstances she would have despised herself for, but she could not help it now. She felt she must do it, or she would die of anxiety. She stood where she could hear what was said when all the workmen had gone save Gropper, who closed the street door, so that no one should enter the shop, and break in on their conversation without it being known.
"What say you, Gropper, now that you know as much as I do?" her father asked, when the foreman stood before him at the counter.
"Get Master Tyndale and everything belonging to him out of the way," came the answer, in decisive tones.
"Out of the way?" the printer interrupted. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, get him out of the city; but where, I cannot say for the moment. We'll think about it, Master Byrckmann. We'll pray over it, and God will show us which way the path lies," the man said quietly.