rain from demanding
justice.

_Reiss._ What is your demand then?

_Well._ For myself I demand nothing. But what does your conscience
demand, wicked man? Is it silent? (With warmth;) Then, then I must do
what I ought to do.

_Reiss._ Well, then, I will give up the legacy at once.

_Well._ Further--

_Reiss._ What can I do more?

_Well._ Resign your office, that the corroding canker may be removed
from the breast of my country.

_Reiss._ But--

_Well._ God and man demand that I should utter this language.

_Reiss._ I will, I will.

_Well._ Consent to the Privy Counsellor's marriage, and do not
disinherit your virtuous daughter. All these points must be reduced to
writing, and signed by you this very day; then I will remain silent,
and spare you, that mercy in turn may be shewn to me.

_Reiss._ I will. Let the seal of silence be placed for ever on your
lips.

_Well._ Forever!

_Reiss._ Give me your word and hand.

_Well._ My word is sufficient. (Puts the bottle in his pocket.) If you
accomplish the conditions, this affair shall be buried in eternal
oblivion.

_Reiss._ All shall be done this very day.

_Well._ Now go, and inform the people of all the blessings you intend
to shower on them.

_Reiss._ I will grant them every thing, but I cannot tell them the
happy effects of our conversation.

_Well._ It must be so to save appearances.

_Reiss._ You are right! (Takes a ring from his finger.) Accept this, it
is of the first water, worth two hundred Louis d'ors.

_Well._ The tears of joy that your virtuous daughter will shed are the
purest christian water, and sparkle better. Those I will accept, and
thank God for the tribulations, for by this he has enabled me to
purchase what is good. Now go. I wish you to die well and soon. Thus I
discharge the sinner from his terrors and my hands, and recommend him
to the hand of the Father of all.--(Reissman slaps his forehead, and
exit.)--I think I have done well; at least, I do not know how I could
have done better. He has stood before the executioner; if that do not
shake and convert him, his good angel will veil his face and fly from
him, and then he will soon be hurled whither I would not wish.

SCENE XII.

Enter Master CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ Old friend, you have performed wonders!

_Well._ Not I, not I, (looking up to heaven,) but another.

_Clar._ He restores the legacy to the poor orphans; he