"'Tis a clear thing!" said the uncle to himself--"Well, I have nothing to say against it; the man pleases me--I wish he were not a Utraquist!"
* * * * *
The lovely Agatha, the daughter of the city messenger, Onophrius Goldmann, sat at the window in her humble chamber. The spindle rested in her hand; on her lap lay an open volume of the songs and tales of the master-bards, but her hazel eyes wandered from the book to the darkening street, and her bosom heaved beneath its drapery. "Twilight," she exclaimed, "twilight is already coming on, and still my father does not return. O that no accident has happened to Francis!" At this moment, some one burst open the street door, and rushed into the chamber;--it was Francis Friend.
"I have had a glorious row with the vagabond nobles," he cried, embracing the maiden roughly, "and the mad Netz has flayed my arm, but I think I have paid him for it, in a way that will make him remember me. Bind up the wound, Agatha."
"Wicked man," replied Agatha chidingly, as she stripped off the sleeve through which the blood was welling; "you are always running wantonly into danger, and care not for the anxiety which I suffer on your account."
"What, am I to let those vagabonds steal the horse from my stable? In the end they'll quarter themselves upon me, and drive me out of house and home."
"You hate the nobles so violently, and yet have married the daughter of a noble!"
"Unfortunately! And I do believe it is on that very account she is such an abomination to me; but I shan't be such a fool again. My wife won't be much longer on her feet, and when she is unharnessed, my next choice is soon settled; a girl of low rank, when she is as beautiful as my Agatha, is dearer to me than a dozen countesses."
"Flatterer," murmured Agatha, winding her arms about his neck, while her kisses burnt upon his lips.
"Gracious Heaven!" cried a deep-base voice, and the lovers started from each other in terror.--Onophrius Goldmann stood at the open door, his left hand hid in his doublet, and supporting himself with the right, for he was exhausted almost to fainting; but his eyes shot lightning at the delinquents. Francis in vain sought to recover from the shame of surprise to his usual braving tone, and Agatha wrung her hands and wept.