erless; 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.

The Thoma who awoke was a different girl from the Thoma of the
betrothal morning. She soon heard this from strangers. Her former
playmate, with whom she had quarrelled, came and told her how changed
she was, and that they must be friends again. Thoma soon showed her,
however, that she had not grown more lenient with the change,