The doctor paused, for the door had opened, and he rose with flushed face to look into the adjoining room; but the smith held him back, saying: 

“Stay, stay!  Marx went out into the open air.  Ah, Sir! no doubt your words are true, but were they Jews who crucified the Saviour?”

“And this crime is daily avenged,” replied Lopez.  “How many wicked, how many low souls, who basely squander divine gifts to obtain worthless pelf, there are among my people!  More than half of them are stripped of honor and dignity on your altar of vengeance, and thrust into the arms of repulsive avarice.  And this, all this. . . .  But enough of these things!  They rouse my inmost soul to wrath, and I have other matters to discuss with you.”

The scholar now began to speak to the smith, like a dying man, about the future of his family, told him where he had concealed his small property, and did not hide the fact, that his marriage had not only drawn upon him the persecution of the Christians, but the curse of his co-religionists.  He took it upon himself to provide for Ulrich, as if he were his own child, should any misfortune befall the smith; and Adam promised, if he remained alive and at liberty, to do the same for the doctor’s wife and daughter.

Meantime, a conversation of a very different nature was held before the hut.

The poacher was sitting by the fire, when the door opened, and his name was called.  He turned in alarm, but soon regained his composure, for it was Jorg who beckoned, and then drew him into the forest.

Marx expected no good news, yet he started when his companion said: 

“I know now, who the man is you have brought.  He’s a Jew.  Don’t try to humbug me.  The constable from the city has come to the village.  The man, who captures the Israelite, will get fifteen florins.  Fifteen florins, good money.  The magistrate will count it, all on one board, and the vicar says. . . .”

“I don’t care much for your priests,” replied Marx.  “I am from Weinsberg, and have found the Jew a worthy man.  No one shall touch him.”

“A Jew, and a good man!” cried Jurg, laughing.  “If you won’t help, so much the worse for you.  You’ll risk your neck, and the fifteen florins. . . .  Will you go shares?  Yes or no?”

“Heaven’s thunder!” murmured the poacher, his crooked mouth watering.”  How much is half of fifteen florins?”

“About seven, I should say.”

“A calf and a pig.”

“A swine for the Jew, that will suit.  You’ll keep him here in the trap.”

“I can’t, Jorg; by my soul, I can’t!  Let me alone!”

“Very well, for aught I care; but the legal gentlemen.  The gallows has waited for you long enough!”

“I can’t; I can’t.  I’ve been an honest man all my life, and the smith Adam and his dead father have shown me many a kindness.”

“Who means the smith any harm?”

“The receiver is as bad as the thief.  If they catch him. . . .”