is
work, and said, when the children met him at the door, "I hardly knew I
had any children."

"Of course not; you forget them, like everything else," replied Annele.
He once more felt the stab at his heart, but it scarcely pained him
now.

"Mother, dear mother!" he cried, gazing at his mother's picture, "you
too she has outraged. Can you not speak? Do not punish her,--pray God
not to punish her! The penalty would fall on my head and on my poor
children! Help me, dear mother; testify for me, that she may cease to
wring my heart! Help me, dear mother! You know what I am."

"A great strong man like you begging! I won't listen to your nonsense,"
said Annele, going into the kitchen, and taking the two children with
her.

The cord was strained almost to breaking.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE AXE IS LAID AT THE ROOT OF THE TREE, AND
BREAD IS EATEN WITH TEARS.

On the sultry evening of a sultry day, the landlord, in an open wagon,
drawn by his two bay horses, was returning from a drive to the city. He
looked about him to the right and left in a strange way as he entered
the village, and saluted with great affability. The wagon drew up
before the door of the Lion. Gregory, who, in his postilion's uniform,
but without his horn, had been driving, dismounted, and began to
unharness the horses. Still the landlord sat motionless in the wagon,
looking thoughtfully from the inn to the horses, and again from the
horses back to the inn. At last, with a deep sigh, he descended, and
stood on the ground. It was the last time he should so drive. All was
as it had been, and only one other beside himself knew what a change
was coming.

Wearily he dragged himself up the steps, at the top of which his wife
was waiting for him. "How do matters stand?" she asked, softly.

"All has been arranged," answered the landlord, pushing by her into the
public room, without entering the parlor first, as was his custom on
returning home. He handed his hat and cane to the maid, and, sitting
down with the guests who were present, ordered supper to be brought him
at the public table. When it came, however, he appeared to have no
relish for it.

The company did not break up till late into the night, and he remained
sitting with the last. He spoke little, but his mere presence was
compliment and entertainment enough.

His wife had gone to bed, and was sound asleep long before he retir