it till night."

He kissed the children, and, turning away, laid his head upon the
table. Long he lay in the same position. Nothing stirred in the house.
He waited till the last sound of the church-bells had died away, then
rose and bolted the house door. "God forgive me, it must be done," was
his bitter cry. He sank upon his knees; he tried to pray, but could
not. "She often said her prayers, and before the last word had fairly
passed her lips, her anger and abuse and mockery broke out afresh. She
has sinned against everything in heaven and on the earth. She, too,
shall--no; let her live. But in her presence I will do the deed; she
shall see the work of her hands."

He covered his face with both hands, then clenched his fists and burst
into the chamber, meaning to kill himself before his wife's very eyes.
He drew back the bed-curtains. "Cuckoo! cuckoo!" cried the little girl
from the bed. Lenz sank half fainting to the floor.

Suddenly there was a rushing sound;--the earth seemed opening to
swallow them,--there was a rolling as of thunder over the earth and
under it,--a mighty crash above their heads,--and it was night, deep,
dark night.

"What is the matter? For Heaven's sake, what is it?" screamed Annele.
Lenz rose to his feet. "I do not know; I cannot tell what has
happened." Annele and the child were beside themselves; they wept and
screamed with terror. Lenz tried to open a window; he could not stir
it. Tumbling over the chairs, he groped his way into the outer room,
where, too, all was in total darkness. "Annele," he cried, "we are
buried under the snow!" A silence fell upon them both; only the child
sobbed and shrieked, and the poultry in the wood-shed cackled as if a
hawk were among them. An instant more and all was still as death.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A FRIEND IN NEED.

At that very hour Pilgrim was on his way to church. When nearly there,
however, he changed his purpose, took several turns in front of old
Petrovitsch's house, and finally mustered courage to pull the bell.
Petrovitsch had been watching him from his window, and muttered to
himself, as he heard the ring: "You are going to make me a visit, are
you? I will give you a reception you won't forget in a hurry."

Petrovitsch was as much out of sorts as if he were suffering from the
effects of a night's debauch; and indeed it was pretty much so. He had
committed an excess in calling up