te, and she struck Anton on the breast with
her bony fist. "Yes, you too are----. They say you testified that he
did not do it."

"Kate, you have a strong hand. You hurt me, but I forgive you. Kate, I
did not testify falsely. I said honestly that I saw nothing that
happened plainly."

"And why was he acquitted?"

"Because six men said not guilty. Come, raise yourself up. There!"

The old woman rose to her feet. She held her left hand to her head, and
her dishevelled grey hair fluttered in the morning wind. She looked
around in bewilderment, and seemed unable to collect her thoughts.

"Some one has stolen my kerchief from my head," she said at length.
"Stop; it must be lying on his grave. Yes, he is in his grave, and the
man who brought him to his death is free--I understand it all. I am not
crazed. I know you. You are Anton; and your mother, in heaven, kept
your tongue from lying. Thank God, you no longer belong to that family.
They must go to ruin--all of them. The haughty Thoma, too. Great God,"
she cried, clasping her hands, "forgive me! Thou art a patient
creditor, but a sure payer. You need not lead me, Anton; I can go
alone--alone."

When Anton offered to accompany her, she motioned him back, and went
through the woods, over the hill, to the village, gathering dry twigs
on her way.

For a long time Anton stood gazing after her. He would so liked to have
hastened to Thoma, but he overcame the impulse, and wandered homeward.

CHAPTER XXXV.

For weeks Anton lived among the wood-cutters in the forest, high up on
the mountain. He was one of the most diligent workers, from early
morning until nightfall; and he was rewarded by having in the log cabin
such a sound sleep as he could not have had in his father's house in
the valley. To be sure, the wood-cutters thought it strange that the
miller's only son should devote himself to such hard work and
privation; but they asked no questions, and days often passed without
Anton's speaking a word. But he thought the oftener: How does Thoma
live? She cannot, like me, find a new place for herself. She must stay
at home, where everything awakens bitter recollections. Is she asked,
as I am, by every one she meets, why our engagement has been broken
off? And, like me, is she at a loss to know how to answer? Not the
smallest lie escapes her lips, for she is honest and truthful. She
demands that her father should confess what he has done,