me have them. Are the keys in the pocket? yes, there they are. Ha,
Bubby, are you here too?"

"Yes, uncle, he saved your life."

"Ah, now I remember. We were buried by the snow. How long ago was it?
was it not yesterday?"

"Scarce an hour ago," said Lenz.

"Hear you no help coming?"

"I hear nothing. Keep quiet a few minutes while I go into the other
room, and get you something to drink."

"Leave me the light; bring me something warm."

"Serves me right," said Petrovitsch when he was left by himself;
"serves me exactly right. What business had I to go out of my
accustomed way?"

He seemed revived by the brandy Lenz brought him, and caressing his
dog, who had nestled close to his master's side, said: "Let me go to
sleep now. What is that noise? Is there not a raven crying?"

"Yes, one was swept down the kitchen chimney by the snow."

"Very well; let me sleep now."

CHAPTER XXXV.

SMITTEN TO THE HEART.

Lenz and Annele sat without in the sitting-room, neither speaking a
word. The child laughed and stretched out its little hands now towards
the light, and now towards its father's eyes, that were broodingly
fixed upon it. "If we must die, thank God our son is saved!" said Lenz.
Still Annele was silent. The monotonous ticking of the clocks was
suddenly interrupted by one of the musical works beginning to play a
hymn. For the first time the eyes of husband and wife met. Annele
changed the child's position on her lap, and clasped her hands over its
buoyant bosom.

"If you can pray," said Lenz, "you ought to be able to look into your
heart and repent."

"I have nothing to repent of in my conduct towards you; whatever other
sins I may have committed, I confess only to God. I have meant nothing
that was not kind and honest towards you."

"And I?"

"You did right too, as far as you knew how. I am more just to you than
you are to me. You would never put me in a position where I could earn
anything."

"And your horrible words?"

"Pooh! words break no bones."

Lenz implored her to be kind and peaceable before his uncle. "Your
uncle and the raven in the kitchen tell me we must die," she answered
as in a dream.

"You are not generally superstitious; I hope, for your sake, you are
not going to be so now. It was you who threw the writing and the plant
to the wind, and called on the storm to visit us."

Annele made no answer. After another interva