our leave," said Annele, approaching, and taking a seat at the
table with Lenz and her father. The landlord soon rose and left the
young people to themselves. "You have reason to be proud of such a
father, Annele," said Lenz; "what a man he is! it does one good to
talk with him. He says but little, and for that very reason every word
is--how shall I call it?--pure kernel, pure marrow."

"Nothing is pleasanter for a child than to hear such praise of a
father," answered Annele. "Mine certainly deserves it. He is a
grumbler, to be sure, and hard to please, as all men are."

"All men?" inquired Lenz.

"Yes, all. I may say so honestly to you; for you are one of the best of
them, though you have your crotchets, too, no doubt. We need to be
patient with all of you."

"That is right, Annele. Thank you for speaking so; I do not mean for
your praises of me, which are quite undeserved. I cannot tell you how
often I am angry with myself. I am always doing the wrong thing. I only
half hear and half act because of the tunes that are running in my
head. I seem clumsier than other men, and yet am not really so. I am
hasty, too, and troubled by things that others make light of. I cannot
help it, the devil knows. My mother often said to me, 'Lenz, in spite
of all your goodness, you will not make a woman happy unless she
thoroughly understands and loves you.' That is true patience and true
love,--is it not?--to think, 'oh well, he is hot and hasty just this
minute, but I know his heart is right.' Do not draw your hand away,
Annele."

In the warmth of his speaking he had taken Annele's hand in his own,
as he first perceived by the motion she made to release it. "We
are not alone in the room," she said, blushing, and pressing her
knitting-needle to her lips; "there are others present."

Lenz turned hot and cold in a moment. "Forgive me, Annele. I did not
know what I was doing. I did not mean to be importunate. You are not
angry with me,--are you?

"Angry? how can you ask me?"

"But friendly in your heart to me?"

"For Heaven's sake!" said, Annele, laying her hand on the back of
Lenz's chair; "don't speak so. How did it all happen? what does it
mean? I thought I might speak to you as to a brother; for, alas! I have
no other."

"And I have no sister, no one."

"But every one is fond of you."

"Yet, if I need a friend, I have, none."

There was a long pause.

"Do you know," said Annele at length, "that the bailiff's daughter