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. With a rapidity which knows no distance, Thoma's thoughts hastened from farm-house to farm-house, where the daughters were condemning or pitying her--her--Thoma; or they were sleeping--_they_ could sleep peacefully, but Thoma could not sleep. As when the poison from an adder's fang permeates the body of a strong, vigorous man; rushes through his veins, maddens him, urging him on, and at the same time making him powerless; seeks outlet where there is none; stifles his cry for help; destroys his life--so it was with Thoma, when on this night she clenched her hands in silent desperation. A concentration of thought, a subtlety of which she never dreamed, possessed her. She struggled against it as against a bitter enemy, but in vain. Imprisonment, the penitentiary, capital punishment--these are things for the poor; but not for the rich and influential. Thus Thoma had always thought; or rather, scarcely giving it a thought, she had considered it a matter of course. But now--if her father confesses what he has done, eternal disgrace will be the consequence. Should he not confess, eternal falsehood, hypocrisy, constant trembling, a cowardly shunning of every glance, and a forced smile when criminals are mentioned. Thoma groaned, stricken to the heart, and then her thoughts became pitiful; "Oh, my father! He is sitting sleepless and alone in prison. This one day must seem to him like many years; like a whole life-time. Who can help him? Who? Who can bring the dead to life, or wipe away sin from the soul?" Thoma looked up at the stars. "They stand still, and twinkle and glitter over millions of sleepers; over millions of watchers in sickness, sorrow, and distress, and no one of them is more unhappy than I--" Tears filled her eyes. She forced them back impatiently. She must not allow herself to become faint-hearted, nor to lament. She would have no pity from any one, for any one!----Proud, proud! "But where is my pride? 'Tis gone. Over yonder lies a corpse, a murdered man!" It seemed to Thoma that she could plainly see Vetturi, standing before her with his bleeding head. She screamed aloud, but the terrible picture did not vanish. She threw herself on the pillows, then raised her head to listen. The cock crew. Her eyes closed tremulously, and, as she lay there but half awake, fragments of the verse from the Bible ran through her mind: "The cock crows--thou wilt deny"----In prison one does not hear the cock crow. Thoma buried her face deeper in the pillows. It was raining gently, and she fell asleep.