They were those which we had seen and forgotten. I ran out, and while Fergus went to Bertric, climbed the little hill beyond the village, and looked seaward. The ships were six miles away, and heading due west, having edged somewhat farther from the shore than when we first sighted them. They were not coming hither.
"There need be no fear of those ships, father," I said. "They are making a passage past us--bound elsewhere at all events."
"Then," he said at once, "there lies your boat on the shore of the open sea. Make away to the main land eastward while there is time, and take to the hills inland. You are not likely to be followed thither. We will give you some token which the poor folk of the shore will know."
Now, while the hermit had been speaking, I was translating for the other two, as was my way by this time.
"Father," cried Gerda, and I spoke her words as she said them, "will you not fly also?"
He shook his head with a sad smile. Neither he nor any one of his brethren would leave the place.
"We shall hide in the hill and behind it while we may," he said. "They may not trouble to hunt us."
"The good father is right," said Bertric. "We must get away as soon as we can. It is our one chance. I had thought of it, but was not sure how the shore folk would greet us. Now we must hasten. Ask the hermit to come and help us launch the boat."
Then he turned to Gerda, who stood with clasped hands waiting to hear the end of the rapid speech.
"It is our only hope," he said again. "We must take that way, though it is hard to leave these holy men to their fate."