What a voice!  It seemed to proceed from the inmost depths of this solemn-looking man, probably because he was the owner of several tickets which, not having yet been drawn, might still win the capital prize.

The first little girl drew a number from the left urn, and exhibited it to the audience.

“Zero!” said the president.

The zero did not create much of a sensation, however.  The audience somehow seemed to have been expecting it.

“Zero!” said the president, announcing the figure drawn by the second little girl.

Two zeros.  The chances were evidently increasing for all numbers between one and nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, and every one recollected that Ole Kamp’s ticket bore the number 9672.

Strange to say, Sylvius Hogg began to move restlessly about in his chair, as if he had suddenly been stricken with palsy.

“Nine,” said the president, stating the number the third little girl had just extracted from the third urn.

Nine!  That was the first figure on Ole Kamp’s ticket.

“Six!” said the president.

For the fourth little girl was timidly displaying a six to all the eyes riveted upon her.

The chances of winning were now one out of a hundred for all the numbers from one to ninety-nine, inclusive.

Could it be that this ticket of Ole Kamp’s was to be the means of placing one hundred thousand marks in that villainous Sandgoist’s pocket.  Really such a result would almost make one doubt the justice of God!

The fifth little girl plunged her hand into the next urn, and drew out the fifth figure.

“Seven!” said the president, in a voice that trembled so as to be scarcely audible, even to those seated on the first row of benches.

But those who could not hear were able to see for themselves, for the five little girls were now holding up the following figures to the gaze of the audience: 

00967.

The winning number consequently must be one between 9670 and 9679, so there was now one chance out of ten for Ole Kamp’s ticket to win the prize.

The suspense was at its height.

Sylvius Hogg had risen to his feet, and seized Hulda Hansen’s hand.  Every eye was riveted upon the young girl.  In sacrificing this last moment of her betrothed, had she also sacrificed the fortune Ole Kamp had coveted for her and for himself?

The sixth little girl had some difficulty getting her hand into the urn, she was trembling so, poor thing! but at last the figure appeared.

“Two!” exclaimed the president, sinking back in his chair, quite breathless with emotion.

“Nine thousand six hundred and seventy two!” proclaimed one of the directors, in a loud voice.

This was the number of Ole Kamp’s ticket, now in Sandgoist’s possession.  Everybody was aware of this fact, and of the manner in which the usurer had obtained it; so there was a profound silence instead of the tumultuous applause that would have filled the hall of the University if the ticket had still been in Hulda Hansen’s hands.