uskets, seemed here to form a large circle,
from the centre of which a single commanding voice occasionally rose
above the general bustle of the crowd.

Alf swung himself up to the corner stone of a house near the market,
held fast to the iron supporters of a pitch-pan, and looked towards the
centre of the circle.

'What do you see,' cried the tailor to him above.

'A stout man,' answered Alf, 'clad in a coarse woolen capote. I can
scarcely see his face through his disheveled hair and bushy beard. He
poises a stout spear over a vigorous burgher who is kneeling before
him.'

'That is our great Matthias,' exclaimed the tailor.

A fresh multitude at that instant came up and pulled Alf down from his
corner stone. The tailor held on with all his might to prevent being
borne away by the crowd, and grumbled, 'it is very wrong that one
should be hindered by the crowd from seeing what the people do in their
sovereign judicial capacity.'

'Thank God! I find one acquaintance here at least!' exclaimed a pale
girl, tremblingly seizing the hand of the tailor. 'If you have the
heart of a man, my good fellow, help us out of this great difficulty.
You have much influence with Johannes Bockhold, the prophet; beg of
him, therefore, mercy for my poor uncle!'

'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