'For your uncle, mademoiselle Clara?' inquired he with astonishment. 'What has happened to the worthy master Trutlinger?'

'Trutlinger, Hubert Trutlinger, the armorer?' exclaimed Alf, in great agitation; 'my good old master? What has happened to him?'

'Alas, they have dragged him before the tribunal of the people!' complained the weeping girl; 'he is said to have spoken evil of the prophets.'

'That is a bad case,' said the tailor, 'and in such an unpleasant predicament there is not much to be hoped from any interference.'

'But you must attempt that possibility,' said Alf, 'of serving the upright man and this loving child.'

There fell a shot in the midst of the circle, which was directly followed by a horrible cry from the thousand voiced multitude. 'God! what was that?' exclaimed the girl, aghast. 'I fear my intercession comes too late,' said the tailor dubiously. At that moment the circle opened and the doomed one was brought forth, borne in mournful silence upon the halberds of several burghers. The blood was streaming from a spear wound in his side, and from a reeking shot wound in his breast; yet the unhappy man was not dead, but breathed, although with infinite pain, and had his eyes directed imploringly toward heaven. 'Not even to be able to die,' groaned he. 'Thou punishest heavily my foolishness, O God!'

'Be satisfied unhappy man,' exclaimed the terrible prophet, who had followed him. 'Heaven has revealed to me that the hour of thy death has not yet come. God has determined to show thee mercy. Convey him to his dwelling,' said he to the bearers, 'so that he may be taken care of by his own family. The Lord desires not the death of sinners, but that they should be converted and live.'

'Bear me forward quickly,' begged the dying man to those who were carrying him. 'These bible-sayings cut me to the heart,--for, out of his mouth, they sound to me like a blaspheming of God.'

They bore him toward his house. Alf tremblingly followed the poor Clara, whose eyes were streaming with countless tears, and who on the way vainly sought to check with her handkerchief the flow of blood from the gushing wounds.

At the door of Trutlinger's house the sad train was received by a beauteous maiden. Around her noble, blooming face, floated in profusion the rich curls of her dark locks. The fire of her black eyes, increased by enthusiasm, pierced deep into the heart. Her high forehead, her finely arched nose, her slender and majestic figure, imparted to her whole appearance something queenlike, which even her burgher garb, (in consequence of the strictness of the new belief deprived of every ornament) could not counteract. When she perceived the situation of her unhappy uncle, she wrung her white hands, tears burst from her eyes, which in the bitterness of her grief were raised to heaven, and embellished by her sorrow she stood, a weeping Madonna. The meek, unassuming Clara became wholly eclipsed by her noble figure, at which Alf stood gazing with true devotion. 'For God's sake, what has happened to you, dear uncle?' cried she, accompanying the bearers, who conveyed the sufferer into the nearest lower room and there laid him upon a bed.