f guests had increased again, there was
plenty of work, and Cain and Vincenza hurried about as of old in the
room where the higher class of guests were entertained. Both did their
work even more quickly and easily than before, for an inner joy shone
in their faces and made their fingers fly. The guests watched them with
pleasure. If the landlord's wife looked in, her expression was serious
and austere as always, but she saw nothing in Cain to find fault with,
and if Simmen himself looked into the room on the right, he would nod
to himself and then go out again: the smith's boy was not so bad to
have about, he was a real help in the house!--

Stephen Fausch's horses and wagon started, and the teamsters ran
alongside. Then Cain came out of the tavern with his father, who had
been to say good-by. Simmen and a few others came out, to see them off.

"I will go with you as far as the path to the Schwarzsee," said Cain to
Fausch, then hurried after the wagon, swung himself up and sat down by
Katharine. No pair could be more unlike: he was like a slim, flexible
young tree, she like an old, old crumbling branch. Stephen Fausch
noticed nobody. In his dark, heavy clothes, with his blacksmith's cap
on his head, he walked behind the wagon with lowered head, and fell
into a long, regular step, that suited the rhythm of the rumbling
wheels. He scarcely seemed to concern himself even about Cain.

The weather was about to change. The clouds were chasing each other
across the heavens and slowly weaving themselves into a silver gray
shroud. But the sun behind them was still so strong, that a dazzling
light fell upon the landscape. The gray road lay clearly defined with
the lakes on both sides and the dark rocky peaks on the north, among
which it vanished. Along the pale colored road, in the dazzling light
went the heavy wagon, the smith marching stolidly behind it.

He now fell back a few steps.

As he did so Katharine laid her trembling hand on Cain's. "I must tell
you," she began mysteriously, and looking back at Fausch, as if he
might hear her.

"Yes?" asked Cain.

"You may believe me, that it is half killing him," said she, motioning
toward Fausch, "that he cannot have you with him any more."

"Yes--I--" said Cain, and could say no more. He looked back at his
father: the feeling grew upon him, that the smith was doing a great
thing for him.

"You may believe me," whispered Katharine. Then they both kept silence,
and involun