'He has practised continual mocking of the holy mission of our prophets,' answered one of the bearers, 'and the prophet Matthias has judged him before the congregation.'
'God be merciful to his poor soul!' murmured the departing populace, and Alf was left alone with the maidens and the dying man.
'How came your senses so entirely to desert you, my poor uncle, as to permit you to fall into so heavy a sin?' moaned the beauteous girl, who was bandaging his wounds with the quiet sorrowful Clara.
'Be silent, simpleton!' angrily replied the old man with his remaining strength. 'My senses have indeed deserted me; but only with the lying spirit of the wicked wretches whom in my madness I held for God's prophets. With my gushing blood departs the delusion which perhaps has cost me my salvation, and I perceive with horror that my poor native city, led astray by crafty imposters, is on the way to ruin for time and eternity.'
'Gracious heavens! he already repeats his offences,' sobbed the gentle maiden. 'We are not alone, uncle,' Clara reminded him in a voice of gentle entreaty.
Trutlinger, raising his weary eyes toward the youth, remained fixedly considering him for a long time; and, as if he finally recollected him, a smile dawned upon his face, which his sufferings chased away. 'If I see rightly,' said he faintly, 'that is a good old acquaintance, before whom no precaution or constraint is necessary. Do I mistake, comrade? Are you not my former faithful apprentice, Alf Kippenbrock?'
'I am the same, my worthy master,' said Alf, approaching and taking his hand, while his tears flowed more mildly.
'This is the finger of God!' exclaimed Trutlinger, and a feeble light relumed his eyes. 'These girls are orphans--their last protector goes to the grave in me. The thought that I must leave their inexperienced youth behind me without protection in this den of murderers, renders my death most afflicting. You were always a good and capable man, Kippenbrock. Promise, then, to your dying master, with the hand and word of a man, that you will shelter and protect these poor children according to the best of your ability.'
Alf cast a friendly glance upon the protegés confided to him. The dark-haired young maiden gleamed upon him with a burning glance, while Clara timidly cast her blue eyes upon the ground. The heart of the youth swelled. He quickly pressed Trutlinger's cold hand and cried, 'I promise it.'
'God reward thee!' faintly uttered the hoary man, his head sank hack and his lacerated breast labored with the death-struggle. Yet once more he suddenly opened his eyes. All radiant were they raised toward heaven. 'Yes,' cried he aloud and joyfully,--'yes, thou hast forgiven the son of earth his errors! I see thy brightness!'--and he was no more.