Her mother begged Thoma to stay with her during the night. Thoma sat by the bed until she had gone to sleep, and then went to her own room, for she knew that she would disturb her mother's rest.
CHAPTER XX.
It was late at night, when Thoma threw open the window of the room in which she should have been asleep. Her cheeks glowed; but her lover, who on this mild spring night, should have been talking with and caressing her, came not. From the forest came the song of a nightingale, and from the hill behind another answered, in rivalry. Thoma did not hear them. She was struggling with a demon that night.
Thoma was a well-bred farmer's daughter. To be sure she had not had much training. She had been one of the best scholars in the public school, and at home she was taught to be diligent and honest; and this she was. She was proud and imperious like her father, who had indulged her from her childhood, and, as her mother cared nothing for the outside world, had been her companion on all sorts of pleasure excursions. He delighted in her decision of character, and above all else had encouraged her pride.
A daughter of a neighboring farmer had been Thoma's playmate, but in reality, her father was her only confidant. It might do for poor people to fall in love, but Thoma, as became a rich farmer's daughter, had made up her mind to marry only a rich and influential man of the same class. Anton, to be sure, was of somewhat lower rank, but still he was of a good family; and, though not rich, he was sought after by all the daughters of the country side.
Even a princess is glad to be loved; and certainly no princess was ever more deeply loved, or received truer homage than Anton gave Thoma.
And now how had it all turned out!
The pride which Landolin had fostered in his child until it had grown all too powerful, was now turned against him, and against the whole world.
Thoma clenched her hands. She did not want to be pardoned, or receive anything as a gift, not even from her lover. "He shall not come and say, or even hint by his manner--'The honor of your family is lost; you are the daughter of a murderer; but still I will be good and true to you.' No--it is over."
As she thought of her father, her hands tightened convulsively. How could he have done such a thing! Common people, servants and beggars may now look into her life, discuss it, and pass judgment upon it. They may be respectful or not as they please. They will act as though she should be thankful to them for greeting her.