e another's vexation at seeing her so handsome, so rich, so
happy. I did not believe there were such persons till I knew Annele.
Brother, seek not to know her better; it would be your ruin. Why do you
look so at me? why don't you speak? Break out at me, do what you will,
do with me what you will, only give up Annele; she is poison! I pray
you give up Annele! Think,--I have forgotten the crowning argument of
all,--think, and God grant you may not think too late! I desire to be
no prophet of evil--Annele cannot grow old."

"Ha, ha! now you would try to make her out sickly. She is sound to the
core. Her complexion is of milk and roses."

"Not that; I do not mean that. Was there ever a woman whom it did one
more good to be with than with your mother? And why? Because her heart
shone in her face, her kindliness towards all men, her joy and care
that they should be happy; that makes an old face beautiful, and all
who look upon it blessed. But Annele! when she has no more hair to
braid into a crown, and no more red cheeks, and no more white teeth to
show when she laughs, what is left? She has nothing to grow old; no
soul in her body, only pretty phrases; no true heart, no honest
intelligence, only a spirit of mockery. When she grows old, she will be
no better than the devil's grandmother."

Lenz pressed his lips hard between his teeth. "It is enough, more than
enough," he said at last; "not another word. One thing, however, I have
a right to demand,--that as you have spoken to me you speak to no one
else, no one, and never to me after this day. Only these four walls
have heard you. I love my Annele,--and--and--I love you, too, in spite
of your jealousy. I no longer desire you to go with me when I ask for
her hand. Good night, Pilgrim!"

"Good night, Lenz!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

UNSPOKEN LOVE AND A BETROTHAL.

Lenz was gone, Pilgrim sat long alone, gazing at the light and
twirling his sandy beard. He was angry with himself. He had said
everything,--too much, in fact,--and defeated his own ends. There was
nothing to take back, all was true; but of what use had it been? He
walked restlessly up and down his room, then sat down again and stared
at the light. How strange life is! How few men work out the fate they
were meant for! The young will not believe it. They scold their elders
for grumbling, and then make botchery of their own lives. The world is
all right; only we