"'I'll bite harder if ever he lays hands on me again!' Heinrich cried, looking at the Churchman, and there was a mad light in his eyes."
The sailor dropped his laughter, and became serious.
"Poor lad," he muttered. "And yet I am glad he showed his teeth to that fierce tormentor, and made him think, perhaps, of the poor girls, and the mothers, and the men he has tormented in those ghastly cellars of the Holy Houses. But come, Master Tyndale. The ship is moving down the stream, and will not wait for us."
Tyndale stepped into the boat, dropping his wallet at his feet before he sank on the seat.
"Come, William," he said to Roye, whose foot was on the gunwale.
"Nay, William, if that is what they call you," said the sailor, holding up a refusing hand. "I only take Master Tyndale."
"But you must take him, friend!" exclaimed Tyndale, bending forward eagerly. "'Tis William Roye, my amanuensis, and if he does not come with me my work will be greatly hindered."
"Then in Christ's name, good man, come and be welcome. All who have a hand in spreading God's truth may have a place on board the Marburg, and I know the Captain will approve."
A few moments more and the boat shot away from the bank into the stream, and was lost in the darkness, which was providential when so many eyes might be prying into the doings of the night. For the clear shining moon had gone behind some dense clouds and shrouded the river and the meadows and the city near by in blackness.