"Yet you tell me that the strip is not in your possession. You will believe that it is no pleasure to me to enter the ranks against a colleague; therefore you yourself must without delay make the whole matter public. For it stands to reason the forgery must be made known." Struvelius reflected. "I take for granted that you speak with the best intentions," he began at last, "but I am firmly convinced that the parchment is genuine, and I must leave it to you to do what you consider your duty. If you choose to attack your colleague publicly, I shall do my best to bear it." Having said this, Struvelius went away obdurate, but much disquieted, and matters took their evil course. Ilse saw with sorrow how severely her husband suffered from the obstinacy of his colleague. The Professor set to work and published a short statement of the affair in the classical magazine to which he contributed. He introduced the fatal passage of the monk, and forbearingly expressed his regret that the acute author of the pamphlet had thus been imposed upon by a forgery. This decisive condemnation created a tremendous sensation in the University. Like a disturbed swarm of bees, the colleagues moved about confusedly. Struvelius had but few warm friends, but he had no opponents. It is true that in the first few days after this literary condemnation, he was considered as done for. But he himself was not of this opinion and composed a rejoinder. In this he boasted, not without self complacency, of the satisfactory confirmation of his restoration by the passage in the monk's writing, which he had undoubtedly overlooked; he treated the coincidence of the error in printing with that in his parchment as an extraordinary, but in no ways unheard of accident; and finally, he did not scruple to cast some sharp, covert hints at other scholars, who considered certain authors as their own peculiar domain, and despised a small accidental discovery, though an unprejudiced judge could not hope for a greater.