urch; he waited till the last note had died
away, and then locked the house door, and came back into the room,
crying in despair of heart, "Heavenly Father! forgive me; but it must
be so!"

He sank on his knees, and tried to pray, but could not:--"Annele, too,
used to pray often; and yet scarcely was the last word of prayer
uttered by her lips, than strife and discord, scorn and mockery, broke
loose again; she has transgressed both against heaven and earth. And
yet I cannot die without seeing her once more."

He rushed into the next room, and drew aside the bed curtains.
"Father!" cried the little girl, who was sitting on her mother's bed;
and Lenz sunk down almost lifeless.

A hollow sound is heard. The earth is opening, surely, to swallow up
the house! It is like thunder--underground, and overhead. A violent
concussion makes the house shake. And suddenly all is pitch dark. The
blackest night reigns everywhere.

"In God's name, what is it?" screamed Annele.

Lenz raised himself with difficulty. "I don't know, I don't know."

"What has happened?" Annele and the child cried and screamed. And Lenz
called out, "Good God! what is it?" They were all stupefied. Lenz tried
to open a window, but could not succeed. He groped his way to the next
room, but all was dark there too. He stumbled over a chair, and ran
back into Annele's room, calling out, "Annele, we are buried alive!
buried in the snow!"Neither of them could utter a syllable, but the
child screamed loudly, and the poultry in their coops screeched wildly,
as if a weasel had come among them; then all was still, as still as
death.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
A FRIEND IN NEED.

At this very hour Pilgrim intended to have gone to church; but on the
way he turned, and went several times past Petrowitsch's house. At last
he stopped at the door, and pulled the bell.

Petrowitsch had long since observed him from his window, and when he
now rung, Petrowitsch said to himself, "So you are coming to me? You
shall not soon forget your reception."

Petrowitsch was in very bad humour, as cross as if he had been
suffering from the effects of intoxication, and it was very nearly the
same. He had been tempted to revel in old remembrances, and to entrust
another with his secret life. He was provoked with himself, for not
having been able to withstand the temptation of appearing good, in the
eyes of one man. He felt ashamed o