“Well, lads,” adjured Lange, softly, “swift and sure is our game. You have the cloak to cast over his head ere he can scream, then one good blow quells him.” They moved together towards the window. Aiming as we were, no earthly power seemed able to save that band the moment the finger of the first touched the sill. But suddenly they halted, and instinctively our levelled tubes sank. Clearly outlined in the window we saw Dr. Luther. For an instant I was disconcerted. We dared not fire from our present positions lest we strike our beloved friend. I was in mortal fear lest they spring in and stab him ere we could fly to the rescue. I was about to drop my pistol, draw my rapier, and charge to the attack, when Dr. Luther’s deep voice sounded out over that silent garden. Stranger words those cutthroats never had heard, I swear. In the candle-light we could see Dr. Luther’s face upturned, his hands clasped and upraised. “O God! God! God!” he spoke, and a quiver went through the murderous five. “He’s muttering spells,” I caught from one lanz-knecht. “He’s devoting us all to perdition.” “Don’t be a fool, Rudbert,” urged Lange, in a dangerously loud whisper. “We’ll have him the easier now.” “Wait! Bad luck to strike while a man’s praying. Wait!” In a flash of moonlight, I could see Orosi cross himself nervously. The whole band stirred. Had Dr. Luther’s thoughts been on anything mundane, he would have easily discovered them gazing up at him blank and spellbound. “O God! God! God!” repeated Dr. Luther, still at the window, and we all, attackers and defenders, stood silently gazing at him, as do men in a catalepsy. Then at last his struggling emotions found their shape. He began to pray aloud, unconscious of everything around. “Almighty and Eternal God, how is it there is but one thing to be seen upon earth! How the people open wide their mouths! How mean and insignificant is their trust in God! How tender and weak the flesh, and how mighty and active the devil, working through his apostles, and those wise in the world! How the world draws back the hand and snarls, as it runs the common course, the broad way down to hell! It regards only what is pretentious, powerful, great and mighty. If I should turn my eyes in that direction, it would be all over with me, the clock would strike the hour, and sentence would be passed. O God! O God! O God! Do Thou my God stand by me against all the world’s wisdom and reason.” “Holy Mother help us,” I heard one lanz-knecht muttering, “you have brought us here to murder a saint. We are damned!” “A wizard,” spoke Orosi, but I knew he had sheathed his dagger. Still sounded the voice of Luther.