t much
accustomed to walk so far, and I almost think I am going to be ill."

"Your pulse is feverish; but that is natural enough. If you have a good
sleep tonight, you will soon be all right again; but be careful of
yourself for some time. You may have a very serious attack of illness
if you do not keep quiet, and spare yourself and nurse yourself. Tell
your wife from me," said the Doctor aloud, so that she might hear it in
the adjoining room, "that she should be very careful of the father of
her children"--here he made a pause on purpose--"and nurse him kindly,
and keep him at home; a clockmaker, from his constant sedentary habits,
is but a weakly creature. Good night, Lenz!"

The Doctor departed. He often stumbled by the way, and almost sunk down
into the snow drifts that were fast thawing in all directions, and on
the surface of which were many dangerous, loose, rolling stones. He was
forced to give his attention more closely to the path, and not to give
way to sad thoughts; for he recalled what Pilgrim had lately said to
him:--"Lenz lived, no doubt, tolerably enough with his wife, but a mere
formal intercourse with any one could not satisfy him; what he requires
is cheerfulness, happiness, and cordial love; and these he has not."

In the meanwhile Lenz was sitting alone. He was quite worn out with
fatigue, and yet he could find no rest. He walked up and down the room
restlessly, like a wild beast in his cage. He might justly have uttered
many more complaints to the Doctor, for he was really suffering
severely, and all at once he exclaimed in the bitterness of his
heart:--"Alas, alas! to be ill, with an unkind wife! not to be able to
go away--here must I be, and submit to her humours and to all her
bitter speeches. She will say that my invalid fancies proceed only from
folly, and my best friends dare not come to see me. To feel so ill, and
to be dependent on the kindness of a malignant woman! Death from my own
hand would be preferable!"

The wind extinguished the fire, and the house was filled with smoke.
Lenz opened the window and stood long looking out:--"There is no longer
a light at the blacksmith's; he is buried in the dark earth: happy the
man who can be at rest like him, and out of misery!"

The air was warm, singularly warm; water was dripping from the roof;
the wind was rushing and raging over hill and valley, and there were
crashes in the air, as if one blast of wind came in collision with
another, dri