Landolin's wife looked back, and drawing a long breath, said: "Thank God! she has sat down on those stones. Some one has come up the hill, and is speaking to her." CHAPTER XL. When they reached home, Peter cracked his whip loudly, and drove through the open gate to the house. A strange servant brought a chair; Peter helped his mother out, then turned to assist his father, who said: "Never mind! I'm still able----" He stood again on his own ground. No sound of welcome was heard, save the barking of the chained dog. The bright moon lit up the square yard, which was neatly paved, and entirely changed in appearance. "Who made these changes?" asked Landolin. "Thoma had them made," replied her mother. Landolin understood it. She desired for her own sake, and perhaps for his, that the place where the murder was committed should be no longer recognizable. "Again I say, God keep you, and I bid you most heartily welcome," said his wife, in a tone full of emotion. "May the years that are still granted to you pass in peace!" "There, there, that will do," responded Landolin. He went to the dog and unfastened his chain. The dog leaped up against his old master, and ran round and round about him, wild with joy. "That's a good dog," said Landolin. "Be quiet. You know me, don't you? They said my hands were covered with blood; but you don't smell anything wrong, do you? The only faithful thing in the world is a dog." The tears on his wife's cheeks glittered in the moonlight, and he said, turning toward her, "Go in first!" "No, you go first, you are the master. It was just such a night as this when we came home for the first time after our marriage; then you went first into the house. It seems like a wedding again." She held out her hand for him. He gave it to her, and hand in hand they went up the steps. As he entered the room, she sprinkled him with holy water from the basin that stood at the door. There was no one in the room but an old servant. "Where is Thoma?" asked Landolin. "She is in her bedroom." "Tell her to come here; that I have got home." "I called to her through the closed door, but she did not answer." Landolin seated himself in the great arm-chair, and his wife gave thanks to God that her husband sat there once more. She had often doubted that he ever would again. Landolin looked at her, and it seemed to him that she reeled to and fro, and that the room and furniture were all in motion. He straightened himself with an effort, went out on the porch, and knocked at Thoma's door. Nothing moved. "Thoma, I am here, your father." The door was unbolted and Thoma stood before him. In a constrained voice she said: "Welcome, father!" "Have you nothing more to say to me?" "You never liked people to talk much." Landolin took his daughter's hand, which she had not offered him. "My child, do you no longer love me?" "I should never ask a child such a question."