Thoma and the pastor walked side by side. The pastor could not speak of Anton, for this was no time for congratulations.
The moon had disappeared, and dark clouds covered the sky.
"It will rain to-morrow, thank God. It is much needed," was all that the pastor said during the walk. At the meadow-path which leads to Cushion-Kate's house, he asked if he should go there with her, but she declined and went alone. She had to pass the house of the "Galloping Cooper," and there, in the shadow of a pile of barrel staves, she heard old Jochen say to the people who sat with him on the bench before the house,
"Oh yes! It's Landolin! They've got him now, and he won't get away. He'll have to pay for it, but not as his father used to pay for his tricks. Here, on my right thumb is still the scar where Landolin bit me in a fight we had. His father paid smart money for it. Yes; in old times the common people only had bones that the farmers' sons might break them. When Landolin stepped into the dancing-room, the floor trembled, and so did the heart of everybody there. Now, he's getting paid back."
"Will his head be cut off?" asked a child's voice.
"He deserves it; but they don't behead people any more."
All this fell on Thoma like a thunderbolt. She stood as though on fire. Her fresh life seemed all burned away and turned to ashes. She pressed her cold hands to her burning face, and fled homeward, unseen.
When she had almost reached the house, she started back in terror, as though a ghost had waylaid her; but it was only the dog who rubbed himself affectionately against her. Thoma was angry with herself for being so easily frightened. "That must not be, and certainly not now." The dog leaped before her, barking. He had evidently been driven home.
When she came in, her mother resting her hand on her open prayer-book, asked how Cushion-Kate was doing.
Thoma acknowledged that she had not been to see her, but did not tell the reason.