lly displayed.

"We really thought that you had gone on a journey," said Bertha, the
boldest of the two.

"No; I have never left home," answered Lenz.

"Nor we either," continued Bertha. Lenz did not say a word.

"Are you engaged in some new great work?" asked Amanda.

"Both in new and old; in our calling work never comes to an end."

"Is it not very fatiguing, such incessant labour?" asked Amanda again.

"Oh! no; I don't know what I should do without it."

"Yes, indeed, clockmakers," said Bertha, playfully, "are like their own
clocks, they always want winding up."

"And you are like the key that winds them;" answered Lenz, quickly.

He would have liked to have made some other reply, but could not think
of one.

"Quite right, Herr Lenz, to pay her back in her own coin," said Amanda;
"but our paths separate here, so now we must say good-bye."

"Perhaps Herr Lenz is going our way," said Bertha; "perhaps you are
going to see Pilgrim?"

Lenz's heart beat; he wished to say yes, and that he meant to go to
Pilgrim's; but involuntarily he said in a shy voice, "No, I am going
home--Adieu!"

"Adieu!"

Lenz went up the hill breathing hard: he thought of turning back, and
who knows what might come of it! he could still overtake them; but
while thinking thus, he went on and on, and at last reached his own
door, his heart still beating restlessly, and he felt as if he were
taking refuge in his own house. Refuge! from what? He cannot say; but
he was very restless all this day--he had never felt so uneasy or out
of sorts.

Towards evening he dressed, and went to the village; he wished to call
on Pilgrim and on the Doctor also, who had long since asked him to
come. Pilgrim was not at home; and Lenz stood for some minutes at the
Doctor's door without having courage to pull the bell. He walked up and
down several times. Perhaps the Doctor may come out and speak to him,
and take him into the house, but no one came. Don Bastian went past,
and Lenz fled like a thief into the village: he was better there, and
one house was sure to be open. The "Lion" Inn is a capital place of
refuge.

Lenz was thankful that there was still a quiet resting place to be
found in the world; chairs on which people can sit down, and tables on
which you can put your hat and stick; and those who live here don't
know what it means to have your heart beat as if it would choke you;
they are calm and composed; and here comes the most cool and
indif