"That is enough," cried Landolin. "Come with me, Madam Pfann, or I shall go alone; I cannot stand this any longer."
He turned away; Madam Pfann cast one more beseeching glance at Cushion-Kate, but she laughed scornfully.
Landolin and the judge's wife walked silently together to where the footpath joins the road; there they stood still, and taking his hand, she said:
"Farewell! I thank you for having been so good to me; and you may be sure it will do you good too. You have done all a man could, and may now rest easy. We have not gained what I hoped, but your soul must feel easier and freer."
"Yes; but I should like to ask a favor----"
"Only tell it," said the judge's wife, encouragingly, as Landolin paused hesitatingly.
"Well, Madam, when I think of it fairly, I cannot blame Cushion-Kate so much, that she is so frantic and raves against me; I am innocent, but still it happened. I don't believe in witchcraft and prophecy; but the way she spoke of death in my family frightened me. Now what was I going to say? I forget. Oh! this. Cushion-Kate may cherish a hate toward me; but my daughter--yes, I will tell you how deaf and dumb she is toward me. It is hard that a stranger should come between father and child; but I think----"
"So do I. You may depend on it I will speak to Thoma, and I shall succeed better than we did over there. I will ask her to come and see me."
With hearty thanks, Landolin and the lady parted. She walked on a while as if lost in thought, and forgetful of the way; but she soon began, as usual, to pick flowers and grasses and pretty sprigs, and arrange them in a beautiful bouquet.
In the garden of the Sword Inn her husband met her, and she soon sat pleasantly conversing with the people of rank in their separate arbor.