station of the
little town where the stationmaster is still awake, and soon the
brother of the "Galloping Cooper" ascends the hill.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

On this still summer night a current of fresh air streams through the
valley and over the hilltops. The ripe blades of wheat sway to and fro
as they draw their last breaths. All nature is silent, save the river
which rushes through the valley. The men are all resting from the hard
work of the harvest, to begin again with renewed strength at the first
glimmer of the morning sunshine.

Up the white mountain road moves a man who often presses his hand to
his breast pocket, as if to convince himself that he had not lost the
dispatch.

In Landolin's house a light is still burning. Thoma sits at the table,
and stares at the candle. Her features are changed by bitterness and
pain, and the lips that once so sweetly smiled, so warmly kissed, are
tightly compressed. Will those lips ever smile again; ever kiss again?

Her mother reclines at the open window, and looks out into the night.

"Mother," said Thoma, "you must go to sleep. It is past midnight; and
the doctor thought that the trial would scarcely be finished in one
day."

The mother barely turned her head, and then looked out again. Is
Cushion-Kate awake, too, thought she.

Yes, she was awake, but she could not afford a light. Perhaps, at the
same moment, she was thinking of Landolin's wife. "She has not deserved
such misery; but neither have I; and I have no one else; nothing but
this gnawing sorrow."

Suddenly Cushion-Kate straightened herself. She heard footsteps.

"Have you brought anything for me?" she asked the frightened messenger.

"No! nothing for you."

"For whom then?"

"For Landolin's Thoma," he answered, pulling out the blue envelope.

"Do you know what is in it?" asked Cushion-Kate.

"I'm not supposed to know."

"But you do know. Say, is Landolin sentenced to death?"

"I'll lose my place if you tell anybody."

"I swear to you by all the stars I'll tell no one. I have no one to
tell. I beg of you, have pity!"

"Landolin is acquitted."

"Acquitted? And my son is dead! Ye stars above, fall down and crush the
world. But no: you are fooling me. Don't do that!"

"You have sworn that you would not tell," said the messenger, and
hastened away. But Cushion-Kate threw herself on the ground, and wept
and sobbed.

In the meantime the messenger had reached Land