'Bear me forward quickly,' begged the dying man to those who were carrying him. 'These bible-sayings cut me to the heart,--for, out of his mouth, they sound to me like a blaspheming of God.' They bore him toward his house. Alf tremblingly followed the poor Clara, whose eyes were streaming with countless tears, and who on the way vainly sought to check with her handkerchief the flow of blood from the gushing wounds. At the door of Trutlinger's house the sad train was received by a beauteous maiden. Around her noble, blooming face, floated in profusion the rich curls of her dark locks. The fire of her black eyes, increased by enthusiasm, pierced deep into the heart. Her high forehead, her finely arched nose, her slender and majestic figure, imparted to her whole appearance something queenlike, which even her burgher garb, (in consequence of the strictness of the new belief deprived of every ornament) could not counteract. When she perceived the situation of her unhappy uncle, she wrung her white hands, tears burst from her eyes, which in the bitterness of her grief were raised to heaven, and embellished by her sorrow she stood, a weeping Madonna. The meek, unassuming Clara became wholly eclipsed by her noble figure, at which Alf stood gazing with true devotion. 'For God's sake, what has happened to you, dear uncle?' cried she, accompanying the bearers, who conveyed the sufferer into the nearest lower room and there laid him upon a bed. 'He has practised continual mocking of the holy mission of our prophets,' answered one of the bearers, 'and the prophet Matthias has judged him before the congregation.' 'God be merciful to his poor soul!' murmured the departing populace, and Alf was left alone with the maidens and the dying man. 'How came your senses so entirely to desert you, my poor uncle, as to permit you to fall into so heavy a sin?' moaned the beauteous girl, who was bandaging his wounds with the quiet sorrowful Clara. 'Be silent, simpleton!' angrily replied the old man with his remaining strength. 'My senses have indeed deserted me; but only with the lying spirit of the wicked wretches whom in my madness I held for God's prophets. With my gushing blood departs the delusion which perhaps has cost me my salvation, and I perceive with horror that my poor native city, led astray by crafty imposters, is on the way to ruin for time and eternity.' 'Gracious heavens! he already repeats his offences,' sobbed the gentle maiden. 'We are not alone, uncle,' Clara reminded him in a voice of gentle entreaty. Trutlinger, raising his weary eyes toward the youth, remained fixedly considering him for a long time; and, as if he finally recollected him, a smile dawned upon his face, which his sufferings chased away. 'If I see rightly,' said he faintly, 'that is a good old acquaintance, before whom no precaution or constraint is necessary. Do I mistake, comrade? Are you not my former faithful apprentice, Alf Kippenbrock?'