must go away again."

"And I shall stay at home," said Annele, indifferently; "I shall stay
with my children."

"They are as much mine as yours."

"Of course," said Annele, in the same hard voice.

"There is the clock beginning to play!" cried Lenz, in distress, "and
that merry waltz too! I wish I might never hear another note. Oh, if
one would but dash out these miserable brains that have lost all power
to think! Can you not speak one kind word, Annele?"

"I know of none."

"Then I will. Let there be peace between us, and all will be well."

"I am willing."

"Can you not throw your arms about my neck and say you are glad to have
me back again?"

"No; but to-morrow perhaps."

"And if I should die to-night?"

"Then I should be a widow."

"And marry some one else?"

"If any one would have me."

"You will drive me mad!"

"It would not take much to do that."

"Annele!!"

"That is my name."

"What is to be the end of this?"

"God knows."

"Annele! Is it true that we were once so happy together?"

"I suppose it must be."

"And can we never be again?"

"I do not know."

"Why do you answer me so?"

"Because you ask me such questions."

Lenz buried his face in his hands, and remained in that attitude
through almost the entire night.

He tried to make out how and why things had come to this extremity; why
to his other misfortunes this so horrible one was added. He could not
explain it. He lived over every moment from the first day to this
night, and still could not explain it. "I cannot make it out! I cannot
make it out!" he cried. "If a voice would but come down from heaven and
tell me!" But there came no voice from heaven. All was still save the
monotonous ticking of the clocks.

He stood at the window, gazing out. The night was still; no living
thing stirred. Only snow-clouds were chasing each other across the sky.
All night long, a lamp burned at the blacksmith's on the neighboring
mountain. The smith had died that day. "Why was he allowed to die and
not I? I would so gladly be dead." Life and death drove in wild
confusion through his brain; the living were not alive; the dead were
not dead; life is but one great horror; no bird ever sang; no human
being ever made melody. The whole world is waste and void as it was
before the creation. All is chaos....

His forehead dropped upon the window-sill; the blow scared him from his
horrible waking dreams; he tried to find rest and forgetfuln