insane with rage, snatched the pike from
one of the men who, obeying Herr Pfinzing's signal, were just approaching
the tailor, and with a wild cry struck down the base traducer.

Herr Pfinzing, with the presence of mind characteristic of him, instantly
ordered the beadles to carry the wounded man into the Town Hall, and thus
prevented the luckless deed of violence from creating any excitement.

The few persons in the courtyard had been detained, and perhaps
everything might yet be well. Herr Ernst had instantly delivered himself
up to justice, and instead of being taken to prison like a common
criminal, had been conveyed in a closed sedan-chair to the watch-tower.

The pike had pierced the tailor's shoulder, but the wound did not seem to
be mortal, and Herr Ernst's rash deed might be made good by the payment
of blood-money, though, it is true, on account of the tailor's position
and means, this might be a large sum.

"My horse," said Herr Berthold in conclusion, "was waiting for me, and
brought me here as swiftly as he must carry me back again. But, you poor
things! as for you, my Els, you have a firm nature, and if you insist
upon refusing the invitation to our house, why, wait here to learn
whether your father needs you. You, my little goddaughter Eva, are
provided for. This sorrow, of course, will throw the veil over your fair
head."

The worthy man, as he spoke, laid his hand on her shoulder and looked at
her with a glance which seemed to rely on her assent, but she interrupted
him with the exclamation, "No, uncle! Until you have convinced yourself
that no one will dare assail Eva Ortlieb's honour, do not ask her again
if she desires the protection of the convent."

The magistrate hurriedly passed his huge handkerchief over his face; then
taking Eva's head between his hands, kissed her brow, and--turning the
shrewd, twinkling eyes, which were as round as everything else about his
person, towards the others, said: "Did any one suggest this, or did the
'little saint' have the sensible idea herself?"

When Eva, smiling, pointed to her own forehead, he exclaimed: "My
respects, child. They say that what stirs up there descends from
godfather to godchild, and I'll never put goblet to my lips again if I--"

Here he stopped, and called after Els that he had not meant to hint, for
she was hurrying out to get her uncle something to drink. But ere the
door closed behind her he went on eagerly:

"But to you, my saintly