The bare thought of it was a troubling one; for a few hours before she had seen the dear man in the attitude of prayer, with his hands clasped, his face full of fervent entreaty, and she had heard him plead in an earnestness that was indescribable:
"Spare me, O God, until my work is ended."
The prayer was surely heard; but had it been answered? Or was Tyndale dead after all, before his work was done? Was it to be as she had heard her father say, more than once, that God buries His workmen, but carries on His work?
From where she stood, undecided as to what she should do—whether to go into the room and stay with Mistress Bengel, or follow her lover with her watchful eye, and perhaps be of some sort of service, if the opportunity came—she could hear Herman's voice. Shifting a little, she saw what was going on, since the door was partly open. Herman was holding a lighted lamp in one hand, and making a gesture with the other; but his face bore no trace of anxiety as to the issue of the search.
"The room is at your service, Captain Berndorf, but there is no William Tyndale in it. Nor is he anywhere in the house."
The soldier was looking round searchingly. Margaret marked his eager glances, and saw how he passed round the room. He opened a cupboard, and ran his hand round the sides; he shifted pieces of furniture, and pulled down some of the pictures if they suggested space sufficient for a man to go into hiding.
The search in that room was a vain one.
The Captain, with the soldier, came out of it, and not seeing Margaret he brushed against her. When he saw her he was not surprised at the startled look on her face, for such looks were usual in his experience, when he went hunting for rogues and rascals, and honest men and women whose crime was heresy. What was more, he knew her to be Herman Bengal's sweetheart, so that he merely asked her pardon for blundering up against her, and did not inquire why she should be in the house. It seemed to him the most natural thing in all the world that she should be there, and for a moment a sympathetic thought came that the poor girl should witness the arrest of her lover.
"I must go through the house," the Captain exclaimed, turning his back on Margaret, but he had more to say, which plainly showed that he had no sense of certainty as to this errand on which he had come.
"Why it should be suggested that a fellow of Tyndale's stamp should be lodging under your roof," he went on, "I cannot imagine. It was mentioned, probably, by someone who owed you a grudge. Still, here's my warrant to search for the man, and I may not leave you until I have thoroughly satisfied myself that he is not here."