"So this gentleman, here, wanted to bribe our watchmen, eh?" said Wolfgang, while he passed the flaming light towards the pale face of the doctor. "That, I suppose, is your much-praised Dr. Normann. Confusion!" he suddenly cried out, interrupting himself, and starting back in surprise, as though he had trodden on a snake--"Wæhler! Dr. Wæhler! Then there is a retributive providence even in this world. Villain, thy hour has come! Mary! Mary! here is revenge!" And before any of the astonished spectators, who surrounded him, could interfere--yes, even before the pale sinner himself had any notion of what was in store for him--Wolfgang, driven by the sight of the hated one to the wildest and most unbridled rage, swung the heavy brand which he carried in his hand, and dashed it down with all his might upon the malefactor, who uttered a loud scream of dread and horror. The sparks flew far around, and the flame was extinguished--but again the glimmering club was raised and threatened destruction to him who had now fallen back unconscious; it was Pastor Hehrmann who saved him. He seized the enraged man's arm with all his strength, and begged and entreated of him to stay, and not to stain his soul with murder. "Murder!" said Wolfgang, musingly. "Murder!" he re-echoed as if in a dream. "Yes, yes, it would be murder--yet that villain, has he not deserved death a thousand-fold at my hands? Was he not the cause that we were obliged to leave the home we had founded in a beautiful country, and that my wife now--killed by fever and grief--lies in the cold earth? But you are right," he continued, after a short pause, whilst the smoking torch fell from his hand--"you are right; I will not stain myself with the blood of this villain--he shall be handed over to the _hangman_, to whom he belongs." "Hold there--hold fast!" cried Schmidt, as he made a spring, and missing his footing, pulled down the Alsatian who stood beside him, to the ground, too. "Back!" cried Von Schwanthal, at the same time, as he opposed himself to the dark form of the fugitive mulatto, who was just about to fly past him into the thicket. But perceiving the German levelling at him, and fearing the fowling-piece, which stopped his only outlet in that direction, more, he turned back and attacked young Siebert, who was taken by surprise, tore the gun out of his hand, and then sprung with it, with a tremendous leap, right into the stream, whose waters met over him again. "Wait a bit, you scoundrel!" said Von Schwanthal, as he sprang to the edge of the bank, and raised the gun to his cheek--"wait, you scoundrel! only show your black woolly head again, and I'll let fly at you, so that----" "Let him go," Werner begged, as he pushed the barrel, which was already aimed, aside--"we are all so happy, this evening. Human blood, spilt by our hands, would put us out. He will not escape his fate."