Landolin had to wait long before Thoma asked what it could be, and he explained that the joy which her wedding with Anton would give her mother was the remedy. Thoma said, in a hollow voice,

"That can never be, no more than"--she stopped suddenly.

"Well! No more than what?"

Thoma gave no answer, and Landolin knew that she would have said--"No more than Vetturi can live again."

A well-known voice suddenly broke in upon the silence which followed.

"Good evening to you both!"

Anton stood before them. Landolin arose and held out his hand. Thoma kept her seat, and wrapping both arms in her ap.r.o.n, said only "Good evening."

Landolin made room for Anton beside him, and told Thoma to come and sit on the bench too. But she replied, "I am quite comfortable where I am; besides, I must go in to mother. She is not at all well."

"You will stay here," said Landolin, in his old commanding voice. Then he explained to Anton that he would have liked to go to see his father, but--and it was hard for him to say this--he did not wish to be obtrusive; and so he waited for people to come to see him. He thanked Anton for his favorable testimony at the trial, and said, that he was glad that he had kept his conscience so clear.

"When I saw you standing there so resolutely, and heard you speak so firmly, I loved you twice as much as before," he added.

Anton understood what it meant for the proud and arrogant Landolin to speak in this manner.

Hesitatingly, at first, and then in well-considered words, Anton explained that he had come to beg father and daughter to go with him to the celebration; that would show the whole world at one stroke that everything was all right again, and everybody would congratulate them anew.

No word, no motion showed that Thoma had heard him. Anton continued in a tremulous tone:

"Thoma, dear Thoma! You sit there as though you were frozen, but I know that deep in your heart, love for me is still burning. Thoma, for this once throw away your pride."

"Pride?" said Thoma, in a low voice.

Anton did not hear her, for he went on: "Thoma, you turned me away. I too am proud, but not with you. I have come back again. Show yourself as good and loving as you really are. Give me one single word--one kind word."

Thoma arose.

"I thank you, Anton. I thank you a thousand times; but I cannot. Good night; I thank you."

"No! You shall stay here, and I will go," cried Landolin, as Thoma turned toward the house.

"Anton, for my part, I am----But settle matters alone between yourselves."

He hastened into the house. Anton and Thoma were alone.

"You need not speak, Thoma. Give me a kiss, and that will say everything."

"I cannot. Anton, 'tis hard for me to talk. I would far rather be dumb, and unable to speak. Anton, it's good and kind of you to come. But tell me,--you are honest--tell me, does your father feel toward my father as you do? Is it not true,--you can't say yes?--you are here against his will. Your father"----

"My father honors and loves you."

"I believe that. But, Anton, I can never be happy again, nor bring happiness to others. I beg of you strike our house from your mind. One blow will be enough to destroy it."

"Oh! Your house still stands firm. Thoma, you were right. On that day I did not know what I saw or what I heard; but now that is all past.

Thoma, I know you. Your heart is honest, and I cannot blame you for it, though it gives you much sorrow. Thoma, you cannot appear to be happy before the world, because you are not happy. Say, do I not understand you?"

She nodded, suppressed sobs were heard, and Anton continued:

"Darling Thoma! I tell you, you can and must be happy; and that without telling a lie."

"I can't rejoice in stolen goods." Thoma forced herself to say.

"I understand. I know what you mean. But your honor and my honor are not stolen. I beg of you, be good, be kind. I beg the wicked Thoma to trouble my good Thoma no longer. You exaggerate----.

"Perhaps so. There--you may take my hand for the last time."

"I will not take it for the last time."

"Then I say good night; thank you a thousand times!"

Anton tried to throw his arm around her, but she tore herself away, and hastened into the house.

He waited awhile to see if she would not relent; but as all continued silent, a spirit of defiance awoke within him, and he went away without turning around, though he sometimes paused and listened to hear if any one were following or calling him. At length he disappeared in the forest.

CHAPTER XLVI.

There is still merriment in the world; song, music, and laughter.

Joyous, singing, laughing people drive along the plateau in wagons decorated with flowers and green boughs. They are seen and heard from Landolin's house; he nods to them from the open window; he is in holiday attire and has decided to go to the celebration, and take part again in the world's gayety. Turning, he said to his wife, who sat in the room:

"Hanne, Thoma won't go; can't you go with me?"

"I would rather you'd let me stay at home."

Landolin would have liked to say, "If you are with me they will pay me more respect;" but he could not bring himself to say it. He had humbled himself before the humblest; but before his wife he could not--she had always been so submissive to him. He often looked toward Thoma and wondered if she would not tell him what had pa.s.sed between her and Anton the day before; and if she would not go with him to the celebration; but she remained motionless and silent. He ordered the wagon to be hitched up immediately; but Peter said that the horses had worked so much in the harvest-field during the week that they would have to rest to-day: at most the bay mare might be saddled, but that wouldn't be wise. Landolin looked at Peter furiously, but he did not want to quarrel with him; for, as long as they did not disagree openly, it was not noticeable that the authority was no longer his. So he consented to ride, but soon changed his mind and said he would go on foot.

As the church bells began to ring, he started for the city. "Won't you go to church, too?" asked his wife timidly. He answered angrily:

"No! They have sung and prayed thus far without me. I guess they can keep it up awhile longer."

This he said; but he thought besides: "They must treat me kindly before they can pray with clear conscience."

"Won't you wait till afternoon? I have something nice for you," said his wife.

"You are always talking about eating--beginning about dinner already! I have money in my pocket, and shall get myself something in town."

His wife made no answer, but pressed her prayer-book to her bosom.

There are no more good thoughts in the book than in her heart, but both are now dumb.

As the bells were ringing for the third time, Landolin went down the road toward the city. A rider was trotting along after him. He came nearer. Landolin lifted his hat and said: