The uproar without seemed stationary before the house. A shower of stones against the door showed that the persecuted woman had fled hither. Johannes was no longer master of himself. His blood boiled in his veins, his heart throbbed to bursting. With the strength of a giant he seized the burly peasant by his broad shoulders and hurled him aside--almost into the arms of the schoolmaster, who was coming to the rescue also. Then he tore open the door, and Ernestine fell half fainting at his feet. He caught her in his arms, and, as he stood thus shielding her, cried, in a tone that left no doubt in the minds of his hearers as to the truth of his words, "I'll knock down the first man who dares to come near this lady." A dull murmur arose. "Let him try to stop us," cried several, and clenched fists were shaken at him. "Yes, I will try it,--but the man who dares me to try it will repent the trial!" threatened Johannes. And so commanding were his words and bearing that no one ventured further than to throw a stone or two, accompanying them with abusive epithets. Johannes drew Ernestine more closely to his side. "Shame on you, cowards that you are!" He turned to Keller. "Will you still refuse a shelter to this lady?--you see that she can scarcely stand." Keller looked at his wife, who had run out to them. "Do not let her in!" she cried. "For God's sake, keep her out! has she not done us harm enough?" Keller looked at Johannes and shrugged his shoulders. "You see my wife will not allow it." Johannes stamped his foot in despair. "Are you human?" "We hope so, sir," said Keller, insolently thrusting his hands in his pockets. "And far better than the friends of that woman there," shouted the mob, and a small stone flew close past Johannes. "If I were as crazy as you are," cried he, "I should throw down upon you the stones that you have thrown at me here, and my aim would be better than yours. But I will not contend with drunken men or do battle with people who are not responsible for their actions; all I ask of you is to give way and allow me to take this lady to her home." The crowd maintained its place in a compact mass, and only replied by unintelligible words, from which, however, Johannes gathered that Ernestine's punishment was not yet considered sufficient, and that she was not to be allowed to escape so easily. "I will pay you whatever you ask, if you will only afford Fräulein von Hartwich shelter until I have quieted this tumult," said Johannes to Keller. "You'll get nothing out of me, sir! Neither money nor fine words will get her across my threshold." "Mother, let her come in," suddenly cried a voice that had a wonderful effect upon the mob. Käthchen had slipped from her bed unperceived, and in her distress had run out to her mother. She threw her uninjured arm around Ernestine's knees, and looked up at her weeping. "They shall not hurt you; I love you so dearly!"