"Father, it's raining as hard as it can pour. You must not go to-day; you are no longer young, and must not hurt yourself."
"Very well; I'll do as you say. Say good-night to Peter for me."
The whole house was silent. Landolin and Thoma slept, overcome by the fatigue of grief. But Peter tossed in his bed for a long time, and did not find rest until he had resolved that he would again give all honor and control of affairs to his father. He would do it, but would not say so; for he had become again, and more than ever, "the silent Peter."
CHAPTER LXVII.
The day awoke, but it did not seem like day; the rain had ceased, but thick clouds enwrapped mountain and valley in deep shade.
When Landolin was again alone with Thoma, he said:
"I'll not stay on the farm; I'll live with you at the mill. You will take good care of me, and the Dutchman is just the right comrade for me now. I'll not be useless or burdensome to you. Peter can take the farm and pay you your portion. I think he has an eye on one of Titus' daughters. I don't care. I've nothing against it. But I want to stay with you the few years I have left; and when I die, bury me beside your mother."
Thoma nodded silently; then she said: "I would like to let the judge's wife know how matters are between us now. She has been very good to us."
"That is very true; and we'll invite her to the wedding; and she must lead the bride in the mother's place. Your mother in heaven will rejoice in your happiness; she said so before, but she thought you would bring Anton home with you then."
The bells rang, and Thoma said it was time to go to church, where mass was to be said for her mother's soul. Landolin and his two children went to church. Peter's silence couldn't strike any one, for no one spoke a word.