"And did he find them?" Tyndale asked anxiously.
"No. My father anticipated his coming, and the bundles are all on board a ship called the Marburg, now lying at the quay. She leaves to-night. He suggests that you should go through the cavern, of which I told him, and wait at the riverside, where you or Herman will send an owl's cry over the water as the vessel passes. He is gone to Gropper's house to bid him see the skipper, and ask him to leave at ten o'clock to-night. He is to listen for the owl's call, and take you on board."
There was no need for haste. Quietly and persistently Tyndale gathered up his few belongings. Some were most precious, but woe for him if Cochlaeus laid hands on them. He set them on the table at which he had been working when Margaret entered the lonely underground room, and he suffered her to look at them. One was a New Testament, the Latin version by Erasmus. The other was the Vulgate, and from these two books he was basing his translation into English for the people at home to read.
There was so much more than when he entered the city, a worn-out traveller, borne in Herman's arms. Then it was the heavy wallet, swung pilgrim-like on his shoulder, holding these precious volumes, and two or three necessaries, but no more. Now there were sheets on which he had laboured incessantly, almost feverishly, page after page, making a heap of papers, each scored over and corrected before he placed it on the pile with the others. These had to go with a few proofs which had come from Byrckmann's shop, smudged and rough from the printing-press. They had to be wrapped about with something, and presently they were ready to be borne in the wallet like a soldier's knapsack.
"A dangerous burden," said Tyndale quietly, when it lay on the table, "but a precious one; and in God's mercy it may more than balance much of the wickedness and sorrow in the world," he added, with kindling enthusiasm.
It wanted nearly an hour to the time when the Marburg would leave her moorings and move up the river. They divided the burdens among them, Margaret's share being the lantern, and with this she led the way. She shuddered when she passed the spot where those dead ones were lying, but she did not tarry, and she only spoke when she whispered back a warning where to stoop, and where the footing was treacherous.
When they came into the open the moon was low down on the horizon, peeping between the heavy foliage of some trees, but making the shadow dense in which they sheltered themselves. Overhead were the glinting stars, Venus riding a few inches higher in the heavens than Jupiter, and close at hand was the dark and slowly moving river which reflected the sparkling sky dots and the dense bushes on the opposite bank. The waters were almost soundless but for the gurgle as they played with the plants and flowers which bent and nodded as the current moved.
Waiting but alert, they saw a great mass moving in the middle of the stream.
"'Tis a raft," said Herman, when he had peered beneath his hand. There were lights on it, and, as they flared, the watchers saw people moving to and fro, and when the moon uncovered her face there were ragged tents, and women sitting near them with their little ones about them.
"So much the better for your journey, Master Tyndale," said Herman, as the moving mass went by. "The river will be clear for the next few days."