inn a shrill cry for help smote upon his ears. Being both a chivalrous and a fearless youth, Conrad drew his sword and walked boldly into the inn. A half-dozen lawless burghers had seized a priest and were trying to force him to drink to the confusion of the Pope and to the health and prosperity of all good Protestants. The priest was no coward, for his torn cassock and scratched face showed that he had tried manfully to defend himself in this unequal contest.
“Hold, fellows!” cried Conrad with authority. “How dare you call yourselves good Protestants and conduct yourselves like this! Good Protestants, indeed!” he added scornfully. “Your recklessness is enough to bring any good cause into ill-repute. What has this priest done?”
“He has done nothing, so far as I know,” answered a burgher. “But it is enough that he belongs to that accursed brood who slay and burn us. The world will be better off when we rid it of these black devils.”
“Shame!” cried Conrad, “to attack a defenceless man and bring dishonor upon the cause of the Protestants. Release this man and then get to your homes, you idle, drunken fellows!”
“It is the advocate, Heer Chenoweth, of the household of the Prince of Orange,” muttered the innkeeper. These words seemed to produce a magical effect, for the burghers began at once to
