For several minutes the shouts of the lads and the piteous cries of the
black page drowned the beautiful melody of the organ, pouring from the
windows of the church. Suddenly the music ceased; instead of the
intricate harmony the slowly-dying note of a single pipe was heard,
and a young man rushed out of the door of the sacristy of the House of
God. He quickly perceived the cause of the wild uproar that had
interrupted his practising, and a smile flitted over the handsome face
which, framed by a closely-cut beard, had just looked startled enough,
though the reproving words and pushes with which he separated the enraged
lads were earnest enough, and by no means failed to produce their effect.

The boys knew the musician, Wilhelm Corneliussohn, and offered no
resistance, for they liked him, and his dozen years of seniority gave him
an undisputed authority among them. Not a hand was again raised against
Wibisma, but the boys, all shouting and talking together, crowded around
the organist to accuse Nicolas and defend themselves.

Paul Van Swieten's wound was slight. He stood outside the circle of his
companions, supporting the injured left arm with his right hand. He
frequently blew upon the burning spot in his flesh, over which a bit of
cloth was wrapped, but curiosity concerning the result of this
entertaining brawl was stronger than the wish to have it bandaged and
healed.

As the peace-maker's work was already drawing to a close, the wounded
lad, pointing with his sound hand in the direction of the school,
suddenly called warningly:

"There comes Herr von Nordwyk. Let the Glipper go, or there will be
trouble."