"If only Master Tyndale were well out of the city," Byrckmann muttered. "I would go to him, but it would be unwise. Someone would see me, perhaps, and Gropper must not."
"Let me go," said Margaret.
"'Tis dark."
"I have been in the streets far later than this, father. Don't you remember?"
Without waiting for more, Margaret went to her room for her cloak and hood.
"What is the message?" she asked, coming into the shop again, fastening a dainty bow under her chin. She pulled the bow into shape and buttoned her cloak. "Give me the message and a kiss, and let me start."
"I will come part way with you, my dear," her father said; "but I will tell you before we leave the shop. The walls of the city seem to be all ears of late."
He took down his cap and buckled a sword on his thigh; then, having whispered the message, which he made her repeat, to know that it was thoroughly understood, he led the way into the street.
They parted at the archway where Margaret had sheltered from the storm, and she thought for a moment of the man who had been standing there. Byrckmann stood well in the shadow and watched his daughter, but when she came to the bend in the long street he hurried after her, to make sure that no harm came to her. From a dark doorway he watched, and saw her stop at Herman's door, and presently she passed into the house. After that he went to Gropper, but returned home, as he put it to himself, like a thief in the night, alert for every sound, and fearful lest he should meet the City Guard. The experiences of the day had shaken his nerve, and the very air seemed full of danger.
Herman's mother answered Margaret's knock on the door, and when she saw the girl she drew her into the dark passage, and thrust in the bolt.