"Herr Professor," said Leonhardt imploringly, "do not aggravate these people further,--we cannot convince them. Children," he called down to them, and his voice trembled with pain, not with fear,--"children, I have grown old among you; I know you better than you know yourselves. You are too wise to do anything that would subject you to the penalty of the law, and too kind to commit an outrage upon people who have never harmed you. You do not believe that I am an unbeliever. Have I not educated your children to be useful, God-fearing men and women? Have I not stood your friend in every time of trouble? The little house, that you in your blind fury would destroy, has afforded many of you a peaceful shelter,--it is a sacred spot to your children, and could you lay a finger upon it? Go to the church-yard and see if there is a single grave there of your loved ones that has not been adorned by flowers from my garden, and would you bury it beneath the ruins of my dwelling? No, do not try to seem worse than you are." He placed Ernestine gently down upon the landing and stood in front of her. "You know that your old master loves all God's creatures, and would you condemn him for taking compassion upon the unhappy maiden whom no one pities, whom all hate? Do you call me godless because I hoped to lead this erring but noble nature to find her God again? Yes, take up your stones,--look! I will take off my cap and expose my white head to your aim. Where is the hand that will lift itself against it?" The old man stood with uncovered head, holding his cap in his clasped hands. The evening breeze played amid his silver locks, and the stones that had been picked up were gently dropped again. Then his arm was drawn down by his side and a kiss was imprinted upon his withered hand. It was Ernestine. Johannes saw the act, and his eyes were moist She could be grateful. He exchanged a happy glance with the old man to whom she had just paid such a tribute. "He is only a weak old man," muttered the people,--"let him alone. He means well." "I will go and bring their pastors," said Leonhardt softly to Johannes, and he descended the steps. He walked quietly through the midst of the crowd, that opened before him, but closed up again when he had passed through. "Come," said Johannes, raising Ernestine from the ground, "let us try to put an end to this wretched scene." He carried rather than led her down the steps. "Make way there!" he called in a commanding tone. The foremost in the mob gave way. Just then Frau Keller appeared at the door. She held the cup of holy water, which usually hung above the bed, and she sprinkled with its contents the spot where Ernestine had been standing. Her pious act was greeted with a shout of applause. Ernestine saw her, and trembled and turned pale, while large tears gathered in her eyes; she grew dizzy, and would have fallen had not Johannes supported her. "Courage, courage," he whispered,--"do not let such folly distress you."