[Starts and trembles.] Good Lord! Is that thunder again?
OLD HILSE
[Instinctively folding his hands.] Oh, our Father in heaven! defend the poor weavers, protect my poor brothers.
[A short pause ensues.
OLD HILSE
[To himself, painfully agitated.] There's blood flowin' now.
GOTTLIEB
[Had started up and grasped the axe when the shooting was heard; deathly pale, almost beside himself with excitement.] An' am I to lie to heel like a dog still?
A GIRL
[Calls from the entry-room.] Father Hilse, father Hilse! get away from the window. A bullet's just flown in at ours upstairs.