rnal, neither one left behind to grieve for the other!' Then and
only then did I hear my father speak of my uncle. 'If I were to die
now,' he said, 'I should leave no enemy behind. I owe no man anything.
My one grief is that my brother Peter dislikes me.'"

Lenz suddenly paused in his story. There was a scratching at the
house-door, a whimpering and howling. "What is there? I must see what
it is," said Lenz.

"No, no; for Heaven's sake!" cried Annele, sending a thrill through him
by the touch of her hand on his shoulder. "Let it be, Lenz! It is a fox
howling, or a wolf. I heard the howl of a wolf once, and it sounded
just like that."

Whatever the creature was outside, it seemed to be roused to fresh
exertion by the sound of voices within; the scratching and barking grew
louder.

"That is no wolf; it is a dog. Hark! it is Hubby's bark. Great Heavens,
it is Bubby! and where his dog is my uncle must be too. He must be
buried in the snow."

"Let him lie there, if he is; it serves him right."

"Woman! are you mad? must you still spit out your poison?"

"I am full of poison up to my throat. For days and days I had nothing
else to drink; it has been my only food."

Lenz went to the kitchen and returned with an axe.

"What do you mean to do?" screamed Annele, holding the child as a
shield before her.

"Out of my way!" he cried, and raising the axe brought it down with all
his force against the door, which fell outward. It was indeed Bubby,
who now sprang in howling, but in an instant was back again scratching
in the snow, and uttering short, sharp barks.

Lenz began to shovel away the snow. A piece of fur soon came to view,
and laying shovel and pick aside, he set carefully to work, digging
with his hands, and bringing the snow into the house in order to clear
a space. When he found his uncle, the old man's consciousness was gone.
All Lenz's strength was required to drag his seemingly lifeless body
out of the snow. He bore him into the chamber, stripped off his
clothing, put him to bed, and began rubbing him with all his might,
till he at last drew a deep breath.

"Where am I?" groaned Petrovitsch; "where am I?"

"In my house, uncle."

"Who brought me here? who took off my clothes? where are my clothes?
where is my fur? where is my waistcoat? it has my keys in it. So you
have me at last, have you?"

"Be calm, uncle; I will find everything for you. See, here is your fur,
and here is your waistcoat."

"Let