Overwhelmed with horror the girls pressed on, and at Eva’s terrified exclamation, “Let us, O let us go!” the man did his best.  But they made slow progress through the crowd, whose yells, hisses, and catcalls pursued them to the entrance of the neighbouring Town Hall.

Here the guard, with crossed halberds, kept back the people who were crowding after the insulted girls, and it was fortunate, for Eva’s feet refused to carry her farther, and her older sister’s strength to support her failed.

Sighing deeply, Els led her to a bench which stood between two pillars, and then ordered old Martsche, and Katterle, who was trembling in every limb, to watch Eva till her return.

Before they went on, her sister must have some rest, and Martin Schedel, the old Clerk of the Council, was the man with whom to obtain it.

She went in search of him as fast as her feet would bear her, and by a lucky accident met the kind old man, whom she had known from childhood, on the stairs leading to the Council chamber and the upper offices.

Ernst Ortlieb’s unhappy deed, and the story of the base calumnies in circulation about the unfortunate man’s daughters, which he had just heard from Herr Pfinzing, had filled the worthy old clerk’s heart with pity and indignation; so he eagerly embraced the opportunity afforded to atone to the young girls for the wrongs committed against them by their fellow-citizens.  Telling the maidservants to wait in the antechamber of the orphan’s court-room, he led the sisters to his own office, helping Eva up the long flight of stairs with an arm which, though aged, was still vigorous.  After insisting that she should sit in the armchair before the big desk, and placing wine and water before her, he begged the young girls to wait until his return.  He was obliged to be present at the meeting, which had probably already begun.  The matter in question was the Eysvogel business, and if Els would remain he could tell her the result.  Then he left them.

Eva, deadly pale, leaned back with closed eyes in the clerk’s high chair.  Els bathed her brow with a wet handkerchief, consoling her by representing how foolish it would be to suffer the lowest of the populace to destroy her happiness.

Her sister nodded assent, saying:  “Did you notice the faces of those people behind the bars?  Most of them, I thought, looked stupid rather than evil.”  Here she hesitated, and then added thoughtfully:  “Yet they cannot be wise.  These poor creatures seldom obtain any great sum by thieving and cheating.  To what terrible punishments they expose themselves both in this world and the next!  And conscience!”

“Yes, conscience!” Els eagerly repeated.  “So long as we can say that we have done nothing wrong, we can suffer even the worst to be said of us without grieving.”

“Still,” sighed Eva, “I feel as if that horrible woman’s insults had sullied me with a stain no water can wash away.  What sorrows have come upon us since our mother died, Els!”