"Yes. I'll tell you all about it, Engel."
Herman told the story from the day when he and Margaret met the tired traveller in the meadow, down to the capture of the Marburg a few hours before.
"Is that all?" Engel asked, having listened with parted lips.
"All? Isn't it enough?" exclaimed Herman.
Silence followed. Each man was busy with his thoughts—Herman and Roye wondering how far their dread concerning William Tyndale might become a certainty, and the prisoner should be handed over to the tormentors; Otto Engel ruminating on the memory that never left him, but wondering as well what he could do to set the man free who was daring so much for the world's uplifting.
Herman had not mentioned his and Roye's fears as to what Schouts would do with his prisoner, but Engel's own thoughts had travelled in that direction.
"My lord, in the robber's castle yonder, will make a pot o' money out of William Tyndale!" he exclaimed, breaking the long silence, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
"How?" asked Herman, startled at the thought that their fears were likely to become a reality.
"How? This Cochlaeus will offer Schouts a big sum, and the two will haggle over terms. Perhaps they'll spend days in making offers and rejecting them; but I can see the end as plainly as I see this fist of mine. The Inquisitors will get William Tyndale into their toils, while Schouts will get his price. Don't I know?"
Silence followed again, save for the sounds of the sleeping dog on the hearth, who barked in his dreams, and the blazing and crackling of the pine-log fire.