"You saw me?" the man retorted incredulously.
"Yes. Do you remember the night when the rain poured down, and you sheltered in an archway? I came while you were standing there. Had I but known!" Margaret added earnestly.
"Was it you?" asked Roye, in surprise.
"Yes, and I was even then going to the house where Master Tyndale lodged."
"If I had but known!" the man exclaimed, repeating Margaret's words. "Then, master, I had proved my loyalty to you and your great work, and my honest wish to serve you."
Tyndale did not answer, for something came looming out of the darkness, when a heavy cloud had cast dark shadows on the river—the form of a slowly moving ship. She slid out into the moonlight, and as she took clear shape, Herman knew her by the peculiar figurehead at her bows.
"'Tis the Marburg!" he exclaimed.
Hurrying to the bank, and taking great risk while doing so, he sent a plaintive and monotonous owl note travelling through the air. He did it again and again until a man in the ship's bows held up his hand by way of answer to the call, and disappeared.
Before long a boat came noiselessly, the oars being muffled, and presently she struck her nose against the bank.
"Is Master Tyndale ready?"