It seemed to Thoma hard-hearted to leave the dead; but she went, nevertheless. She wanted to comfort the living, and tell him what was in her soul. She went up the stairs; the door was locked. She knocked; no one answered. She called out, "Father! father!" It was the first time in many days that she had spoken that word. Landolin raised himself up from the floor and listened. This cry from his child seemed to revive him; but he answered: "You said that you were alone. I too will be alone. I am alone. For you I am no longer in the world." "Father, open the door! My heart is breaking." The door opened, and Thoma fell on her father's neck, and could not speak for sobbing. But at length she said: "Father, I wanted to ask your forgiveness." "Not you, I--I wanted to come to you. Don't speak; let me talk. Thoma, you were right; I did do it. I killed Vetturi, and then denied it." Thoma sank on her knees and covered her father's hard, rough hand with tears and kisses. The moon shone into the room; and when Thoma looked up and saw her father's face, it seemed to her as if glorified; it was no longer the face of the hard, indomitable man. "I shall say it to no one but you, and no one but you has a right to hear it from me. I have forgiveness to ask from no one but you; and no one but you can help me bear my burden, the few years yet till I am with your mother," said Landolin. And the strong man sobbed and cried as though his heart were broken. "Thoma, you thought it, and never said it to me, and never pretended to be friendly to me before the world; but he, he threw it in my face: and I did not die, but it killed your mother." He told of the quarrel with Peter, and its consequences. "Father," began Thoma, "you cannot wish that Peter should be ruined; he is your child. We cannot excuse to him what he has done; but we can help him. And the best help, the only help is, that we two, whom it has hurt, should forgive him." "You are right, child. You are brave-hearted. We will do it. We will strive to keep things from ruin. We will stand by Peter; he must not utterly sink. I know how a man sinks. Come, let us go to him." Father and daughter went hand in hand to Peter's room; he was not there. They went to the stable, and there he sat on the fodder bin, beside the new-born colt. If his dead mother had come to life and walked toward him, Peter would not have been more astonished than now, when he saw his father and Thoma coming hand in hand. "Peter," said the father, "I forgive you everything as I pray to God to be forgiven myself. And do not fret your heart out. You are not to blame for your mother's death; she was very sick; the doctor acknowledged it to me. Do speak! Do say one word!" "All right," said Peter; "all right. I thank you." "Will you not go with us?" "No! I will stay here. I am best off here. I wish I were a horse; such a creature has the best time, after all." "Oh come, dear brother!" "I am not your dear brother; let me alone."