the mob, from so
apparently trifling a cause a tumult was created; the jealousy of the
townsmen now appeared--that jealousy, smothered and subdued for so
many years, burst forth in this madness.

Poor Marguerite had fainted. Carl and Krantz, by herculean exertions,
dragged her through the mob; she was taken to a small room over the
great hall, and laid there until the storm should be appeased.

It did not seem likely to be so. Unfortunately, one of the guards had
in the tumult struck a burgher; in some of the smaller streets they
were even now fighting; but the crowd in the great square seemed
to have a firmer purpose, there was a gradual calm. At last one man
climbed up the statue in the Center of the square.

"Where is Dumiger?" he asked.

And another voice answered, "He is in the debtor's prison."

"We will go and lead him to his triumph," was the dark and threatening
reply of the people, who now moved forward in columns.

CHAPTER VI.

The two days which elapsed since the interview with the stranger had
been passed by Dumiger in great misery. He blamed himself deeply for
having been so easily entrapped into what he feared would prove a
snare, and very foolishly, as we have seen, he wrote to Marguerite
that she had everything to hope, as he still retained the desire of
being honored by his fellow-townsmen, although they were not to enjoy
the fruit of his labors.

On the eventful morning which has been described, Dumiger arose full
of hope, his triumph was to be secured; and in the evening he even
entertained a secret impression and belief that the people would not
permit the clock to be removed, and that the error he had made might
be retrieved by their energetic wills. He heard the bands of music
playing in the distance. The merry chimes floated over the water, and
bade him good speed. He thought that he could even discern the buzz of
enjoyment, and the shout of anticipated triumph. He took out the last
letter which Marguerite had written to him, and pressed it to his
heart; that day, he thought, was to see them united never to be parted
again.

What sound was that?--Was it the wind? No, the murmur of many voices,
the tramp of a thousand feet, shook the drawbridge. He heard his
own name called out. Yes, it is! it surely cannot be an error; it
is Dumiger they are invoking. Now there can be no mistake, the crowd
unite in one loud cry,--

"Where is Dumiger?"

"I am here, I am here," he shrieks out; "Ope