shall find out who I am."

She entered the room. Peter held out his hand to her, simply saying
that this was only for the present; that to-morrow or Sunday his father
would come and ask for her hand in the usual form.

"Yes, your father," interrupted Titus. "Does he know that you are
here?"

"It isn't necessary for my father to know; the farm has been in my
hands for a long time, and I've only let him appear to be of some
consequence before the world."

"Yes; but does your father know that I was one of those who said
guilty?"

"No, he need never know it."

While they were speaking a man came with the message that Peter must
come immediately to Anton's saw-mill, for Landolin was in great danger.

Just as the butcher's soup was served, and Peter's mouth was watering
for it, he was obliged to leave.

CHAPTER LXIX.

The wild water rushes from mountain to valley. It flows and splashes
through all the ditches. Even through the middle of the road a small
brook has torn its way. It is all so merry, and to-morrow it will not
be there.

In the fields men work busily; every year they cut the grass and grain.
The forest trees grow many years, but at last the axe fells or the
storm uproots them. Only the earth, in which men are buried, remains.

Down in the rapids, not far from the Devil's-kettle, lies an uprooted
pine. No one can pull it out. In the summer-time the ground caves in;
in winter the ice is too slippery. So this tree had stood many, many
years by the whirlpool, and had forced its roots into the rocky bed.
The water sprinkled upon it from the falls had nourished it so richly;
and now it is done with decaying----. "What a pity for the fine,
valuable tree!" was really Landolin's last thought.

The black horse neighed loudly, then looked back at his master, who
held the reins so loose. Landolin straightened himself in the saddle
and tightened his hold on the bridle. See, there comes Cushion-Kate,
with a bundle of dry twigs. Landolin nodded approvingly at his own
resolution.

"Wait; I'm coming," he cried to Cushion-Kate. She stopped and threw
down the bundle of wood. Landolin sprang from his horse, and holding it
by the bridle, he said:

"Kate, my wife is dead."

"I suppose so; they buried her."

"I want to talk kindly to you. Who knows how long either you or I shall
live?" And in deep contrition he went on, in a low tone: "You have lost
your son, and I am almost per