CHAPTER XXIV

THE GREAT ALTERNATIVE

Margaret was still in jeopardy, and before many hours had gone it was known that she stood in danger of again being lodged in the place from whence she had just been rescued. What should have been her bridal day was spent in hiding, and her father did not dare to come to see her in the broad daylight lest someone belonging to the Holy House should be watching, in readiness to track him, on the supposition that he would be going to see his daughter.

It was dark when he came, but after he had gone home again, Margaret pleaded to be taken home, if only for an hour, to see her mother.

"No!" cried Heinrich, who had come back to the stable, pale and dishevelled, the water dripping from him as he stood within the room. "No! something will happen. You will run into the arms of those fiends who are seeking for you, and I have been told that they have sworn to find you, and break you on the rack, and after that to burn you in the Holy House garden, into which all who are confined there are to be brought to witness your sufferings."

Margaret shuddered, and hid her face in her hands.

"Who told you all that?" Herman asked, pale and trembling at the threat, but realising, from what was common knowledge, that what the simple-minded man said was more than likely to be true. It was the thing one could have expected.

"I will not tell you," Heinrich answered, almost curtly. "Why should I? And yet, why not?" he added quickly, wiping his face with his kerchief, for it was streaming with the rain which could be heard pattering heavily on the roof. Before he said more, he looked round the room, and, uncertain about the door, went to it, and, standing on the top, called down softly to his mother, who was below:

"Is the outer door locked?"

The whispered question was answered softly, when, from the sounds that followed, they who listened knew that she had gone to the door to try it.

"Yes, my son."

"You are sure?"

"Certain."

Heinrich turned to the others with a look of relief.

"Now I will tell you. This afternoon I stood at the ferry, keeping well out of sight to see what the Burgomaster was doing there. Something had gone wrong, and he was directing some men who were working at the posts which take the chains that stretch across the water-gate. Some of the men, who were standing waist-deep in the water, crossed themselves, and it was easy to see that they shrank from something. I bent forward to see what they were looking at, and there I saw them--two of those hungry vultures--walking noiselessly, side by side. When they had looked around, as if to mark whether they were observed, they disappeared among the bushes which hide the entrance to the cavern."

"What then?" Margaret half whispered, leaning forward in her chair, her lips white and parted, and her fingers on them, trembling.

[Illustration: "HALT!" CAME THE CRY ON THE NIGHT AIR. _See page 214._]

"I followed them, and stole along until I, too, came to the bushes. They were gone into the cavern then, but I went also, and followed until I saw them, by the light of their lantern, going to the passage which leads into the Holy House. They thought themselves alone, and talked freely to two others who had just come out of the Holy House, going, no doubt, on some nefarious errand.

"It was then, as I stood back in hiding, but craning forward not to miss a word or any movement, that I heard all. Those who were returning said that they had scoured the city, but found no trace of the missing girl. What next they said made me shiver in my boots. It was hard to keep my teeth from chattering, which I feared they would have heard. The two who came through the doorway said their orders were, at eleven o'clock to-night, when the people of the city would be asleep, to go to Master Byrckmann's house and search it, high and low, and if they found you not, to bring your father and your mother.

"So now, you know!" the simple one exclaimed, sitting on the floor in his soddened clothes.

A low cry came from the girl's lips, and she stood facing the door, with her hands clenched tightly, watching with startled eyes as though she expected to see those sombre and relentless hunters in the doorway.

"Herman, I must go and warn my father. They will kill him, and my mother!" she exclaimed, in a broken voice. "And rather than that, oh, I would die!"

"No, darling, that must not be," said Herman, trying to soothe her, and throwing an arm around her, to give her an assurance of her safety because of his strength. "I must take you away from the city at once. We must get you to my mother's house, and away through the cavern to the river; and after that God will tell us what to do," he said, in quiet confidence.

"Herman, I could not do that. They would take my father and mother away because I was not to be found. Rather than that, I would give myself up."

"Nay, that you shall never do!" Herman cried, holding the girl more closely to him. "Listen. Heinrich shall think out some way of escape for us all, and while he is doing that I will go to your father and bid him and your mother come here, and we can all go to some safe place out of the reach of those who want to find you."

"You are safe for a time!" exclaimed Heinrich, who had risen to his feet and was standing before Margaret with hands that played with the weapon at his belt.

"Safe, Heinrich?" Margaret asked. "But not for long," raising her startled eyes to his, as though she would read in them the extent of her security. "'Tis my father I am thinking of, and my mother," she cried, in a broken voice.

"Let me think!" exclaimed Heinrich, throwing out his hand. "I am bewildered. Give me time, for it is a long while yet till the cathedral bell strikes out the hour of eleven."

Wet though he was, his soaking clothes clinging to his thin body, and the water still trickling down his face from his soddened cap, he sat on the hearth in a huddled heap, and the others stood by and watched him in silence. They thought he had fallen asleep, he sat so still, and Margaret softly sank into her chair to wait, while Herman's arm rested about her shoulder, to reassure her.

He seemed to awake unexpectedly, and, springing to his feet, went to Herman and laid a hand on his arm.

"Go and tell Master Byrckmann what I have told you. Make him believe it, for every word I have spoken is true; otherwise he may bar his door to-night and refuse to hear the summons. Tell him more; to come here with his wife and whatever money he may have, for it is time to be gone. Tell him it is his last chance, and it is death to remain. It is as ill for him to remain as it was for those who remained in Sodom when the angels said to Lot, 'Up, get you out of this place.' Tell him I know how to get you all out of the city, and you can go into safety, away from those creatures who are bent on your destruction."

They looked at him in wonder. It seemed to them as though he was no longer the simple one of the city, but some inspired one with a message; and Herman, when Heinrich had ended, and had sunk down again to the hearth, worn and tired, took him at his word. He kissed Margaret, and, wrapping his cloak about him, went down the stairs and out into the driving wind and rain. He knew the way, dark though it was, and after traversing the empty streets, stepped abruptly into the parlour where Margaret's father was sitting.

"What news, Herman?" he asked, when he saw the young man's face; and while the story came, of the peril which threatened him and his house, the printer listened with his head bowed low and his hands tightly clasped.

"'Tis what I suspected, Herman," he said quietly, when all was told, "and Gropper and I have been talking of the possibilities. He may have passed you in the street, for he has been gone only a few minutes. Didst meet him?"

Herman shook his head, and his own question came:

"What is your plan?"

"To get out of the city. I have lodged much of my money in the bank, and the banker, who is as a brother to me, will contrive to send it on to me, when I let him know where I am gone. And as for Gropper, he takes up the business. He has the contract hidden away in his bosom at this moment, and he will pay as God prospers him. We thought of starting in the morning."

"That will be too late," Herman urged.

"I know it now, and since I have told my wife what lies before us, she was willing, and is like me, like you, my son, and like our darling--we are all in God's hands. We will start to-night. I will go upstairs and bid my dear one get ready."

When he came back, Herman watched, and saw that he had brushed away some tears from his face. He did not speak, but, taking two strong leathern wallets from the wall, he went to the strong box in the corner of the room, and, unlocking it, drew forth a heavy bag and set it on the table. The chink of gold sounded as it touched the board.

"Herman," he said quietly, "this was set apart for Margaret--her bridal gift. I give it over to you for her. Use that wallet, for its safe keeping."

He returned to the box and brought two more bags, bulky and heavy like that at which Herman was staring in speechless wonder. Bringing them to the table, he placed them in the capacious wallet, which bulged with its burden, and then, while Herman followed his example, he flung it over his shoulder, and drew over it and himself his heavy cloak.

"God has been very good, my son," he said softly. "He is not sending us forth scripless and moneyless. Here is ample for our needs, even if it should prove our all, and I am thankful."

He fell on his knees at the table, and bent his head between his hands in prayer, and while he knelt someone stole into the room, ready cloaked, but pale, and went down by his side and put her arm about him.

"Let us go forth, dear heart," she said. "I long to see my child, and wherever God sends us, it is well."

The moments were very few before they stood in the doorway looking into the dark street. Almost like thieves in the night, when they had pulled the door after them and heard the latch fall quietly, they stole across the street into the dark alley, the mother with a man on either side of her.