"Herman," Margaret whispered, afraid to move lest she might betray her presence, although the sound of the men's footsteps had grown indistinct as they fell on the meadow grass.
"Yes, little one?"
"They will find him, and they will kill him!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking.
Herman was holding her hand, and it felt damp with her sudden fear.
"I will take you home, my dear, and then go after them. I shall do my best to pass them, for I shall go fleetly, and give warning to those on board the Marburg."
"You will be too late!" Margaret protested. "It will take you an hour or more to go back with me, and then those men will have gone so far that you will not overtake them, much less pass them."
She buried her face in her hands, for the vision had come to her in those moments of dread, of a godly man in the hands of the tormentors, tortured, and then for a certainty bound to the stake for death. It was a terrible thought that this saintly man should be cut off in the midst of his splendid work, and be counted among the martyrs.
She lifted her face, and because at the moment the clouds drifted by, Herman saw that it was wet with tears.
"Go now, Herman," she cried, springing to her feet, and holding up her lips for him to kiss. "Go now!"
"And leave you to go through the cavern and home alone? I cannot. I will not!"