ut you only wish
to sting me--good night!"

He went to Pilgrim, who was now convalescent, and stayed all night with
him. As Pilgrim was getting better, he was naturally in good spirits,
and Lenz was unwilling to destroy his cheerfulness; on the contrary, he
listened patiently when Pilgrim related to him:--"During my illness, I
learned to comprehend how it is that a bird all his life long only
twitters a couple of notes. In the half life of a dreamy state, even
one tone is sufficient. During four long weeks, my soul was haunted by
this solitary notion. Man has no wings, but he has got lungs, and even
with one lung left, I may still live to eat potatoes for seventy seven
years, and if I had been a bird I would have incessantly whistled, like
a silly bird, 'one lung, two lungs, two lungs, one lung,' just like a
grasshopper."

The words that haunted Lenz were also few but sad. No one should hear
them.

"A reference to the Bible," continued Pilgrim cheerfully, "quite
confirmed my fixed resolution to remain a bachelor and alone, for it is
clearly written there, that man was at first alone in the world,--the
woman never was alone,--and that it is good that man _can_ live alone.
Only I change one little word, and say it is good that man _should_ be
alone."

Lenz smiled, but he felt the application.

Next morning Lenz, having sat up all night, went home weary and as pale
as death to his work, and when he saw his children, he said:--

"I scarcely knew that I had children."

"No doubt you forget them utterly," said Annele.

Lenz again felt a stab in his heart, but he did not feel it so acutely
as formerly, and when he looked up at his mother's picture, he
exclaimed:--

"Mother! mother! She has slandered you too! can you not speak? Do not
punish her, intercede with God not to visit her with a judgment for her
sin. If he punishes her, my poor children and I must suffer also. Help
me, dear mother, and influence her no longer to crush my heart. You
know me--you alone--beloved mother!"

"I can't listen to such mummery," said Annele, and went with the two
children to the kitchen.

The stress on the mainspring was severe.

CHAPTER XXVI.
THE AXE IS PUT TO THE ROOT OF LIFE, AND
TEARS ARE SHED.

It had been a sultry day, and was still a close, sultry evening, when
the Landlord of the Lion, who had driven to the town in an open caleche
with hi