"But you knew well what he was," whispered conscience.

"Yes; but not exactly," was her answer; "not exactly."

"But has he not a good heart?"

"Yes, towards men in general, but not towards me. No one has ever been domesticated with him, so no one knows how full of odd humours he is, and how wild and strange he can be. But this can go on no longer; as we cannot gain a livelihood by clockmaking, we must by something else."

This was always Annele's grand conclusion, and her thoughts incessantly revolved round this point. She wished to employ her experience as a landlady in a well frequented inn, to which people would flock from far and near; and then, when she had plenty to occupy her, and was daily making money, and had other people to order about, quiet hours and happy days would return.

She went into the next room, and looked at herself in the gla.s.s. She dressed herself neatly, for she was no sloven; slippers she never wore, whereas Lenz would often go from one Sunday to the other, without once putting on his boots. While she arranged herself neatly, and for the first time for many weeks past, plaited her long hair into a triple coronet, her scornful looks seemed to say, "I am Annele of the Lion; I will have no more pining and lamenting; I will begin a fresh life, and he must follow my lead."

"Is your mistress at home?" asked some one outside.

"Yes."

There was a knock at the door. Annele looked up in surprise, and the Pastor came in.

"Welcome, Herr Pastor," said Annele, curtseying. "Your visit is meant for me, then, and not for my husband?"

"Yes, for you. I know that your husband is absent, I have never seen you in the village since the misfortunes of your parents, and I thought that perhaps it might be some relief to talk over matters with me."

Annele breathed more freely, for she was afraid the Pastor had been sent by Lenz, or had come of his own accord, to speak to her about him.

Annele now lamented the unhappy fate of her parents, and said that she much feared her mother would not long survive the blow.

The Pastor earnestly entreated her, whether her parents were innocent or guilty, not to repine against the will of G.o.d, nor to withdraw herself from the world, in anger and vexation. He reminded her of what he had said on her wedding day, of the honour of husband and wife being identical. He added, kindly, that the Landlord of the "Lion" had probably miscalculated his resources, and, however heavily, yet without any evil intentions. "I did not forget," said the Pastor, wishing to give a different turn to the conversation, "that this is the anniversary of your fifth wedding day, so I wished to come and say good morning to you."

Annele thanked him cordially with a smile. But it flashed across her mind, "And Lenz could go away without even saying good morning to me!"

She now told the Pastor, in fluent language, how pleased she was to find that her Pastor should pay her such a compliment. She said much of his goodness, and that the whole village ought daily to pray that G.o.d might long spare him to them. Annele evidently wished, by her easy volubility, to lead her visitor to other topics, in order to prevent his discussing her affairs; she was resolved not to allow the Pastor, even in the mildest form, to offer himself as a mediator in their household discord. She screwed up her lips with the same energy that Gregor the postilion displayed, when he was going to play one of his well studied flourishes on the horn.

The Pastor saw this plainly enough. He began to praise Annele on points where she really well deserved praise; that she was at all times so stirring and orderly, and, with all her bantering ways, she had yet invariably been strictly virtuous, and taken charge so admirably of her father's house.

"I am so little accustomed to hear praise now," answered Annele, "that the sound is quite strange to me, and I feel as if I never had been of use during my life, or ever had been good for anything."

The Pastor nodded, though very slightly. The hook was fast in; and just as a physician wins the confidence of an invalid by saying, "You suffer from such and such a pain, you ache here, or you are oppressed there,"--and the invalid looks up gladly, thinking, "This man knows my complaint already, and is sure to cure me;" so did the Pastor contrive to describe Annele's sorrows, as if he had experienced them himself.

Annele could no longer resist this sympathy, and Lenz came in for his full share of reproach and blame. "Help us, Herr Pastor!" said she.

"Yes, I can and will; but some one else must help too, and that is yourself."

The worthy man seemed suddenly to become taller, and his voice more powerful, as he reminded Annele of her hardheartedness towards Franzl, and of all the false pride she nourished in her heart. Annele listened with flashing eyes, and when the Pastor reproached her with her transgression against Franzl, she broke loose, as if on some prey for which she had laid in wait.

"So now it is come out,--the sly old woman! the horrid hypocrite!--it was she who had told all these things of her, and exasperated the Pastor, and the whole world, against her." No cat devours a mouse with greater satisfaction, than Annele now clawed and tore at old Franzl.

"If I had her only here this minute!" said she repeatedly.

The Pastor let her rage till she was tired, and at last said: "You have exhibited no little temper just now, but I maintain, for all that, you are not really badhearted--in fact, not bad at all."

Annele burst into tears, and deplored her being so altered for the worse. She had become so pa.s.sionate, which was not her natural disposition; and it all proceeded from her being able to earn nothing.

She was not fitted to be the wife of a small clockmaker, and to look after his household. She ought to be a landlady, and if the Pastor would a.s.sist her in this project, she faithfully promised him, that she would never again give way to either anger or malice.

The Pastor agreed with her that to be a landlady was her peculiar vocation. She kissed his hand in grat.i.tude. He promised to do what he could to effect this, but exhorted her not to expect a transformation of heart from any outward events. "You are not yet," said he, "sufficiently humbled by grief and misery. Pride is your besetting sin, and causes your unhappiness, and that of others also. G.o.d grant that some irrevocable misfortune to your husband, or children, may not eventually be the first thing to convert your heart!"

Annele was seated opposite the mirror, and unconsciously she saw her face reflected in it; it looked as if it was covered with cobwebs, and involuntarily she pa.s.sed her hand across it, to brush them away.

The Pastor wished to go away, but Annele begged him to stay a little, as she could collect her thoughts better when he was there; she only wished him to remain a short time longer.

The two sat in silence, and nothing was heard but the ticking of the clocks. Annele's lips moved, without uttering any sound.

When the Pastor at length took leave of her, she kissed his hand reverently; and he said, "If you feel in your inmost soul what a privilege it is, and if your heart is humbled--thoroughly humbled, then come to the sacrament tomorrow. May G.o.d have you in his holy keeping!"

Annele wished to accompany the Pastor a little way, but he said: "No politeness at present. Be good and humble at heart. 'Judge yourself, that ye be not judged,' says the Apostle Paul. Judge yourself, and search your heart. Accustom yourself to sit quiet sometimes, and to meditate."

The Pastor was gone, and Annele sat in the same place. It was not easy for her to sit idle, and reflection was quite contrary to her nature, but she forced herself to think over what had pa.s.sed. Her child woke up, and began to scream.

"The Pastor has no children; I cannot sit still any longer, I must pacify the child," said she, taking the little girl out of bed. Deep repentance, however, and new love for Lenz, had awoke within her heart.

"We will settle our own affairs," said she, "without the help of either the Pastor or any one else."

It was noon and the sun shone brightly. Annele wrapped up the child well, and went with it before the house. Perhaps Lenz will soon be home, and she will welcome him kindly, and call out the "good morning"

he forgot to say when he left her; and she would tell him that all was to go well between them in future. This is the very hour of her wedding five years ago, and this shall be another happy day.

A man was seen climbing the hill: he was not yet near enough to be recognised, but Annele said to the child, "Call, Father!"

The child did so; but when the man came up, it was not Lenz, but Faller. He wore a hat, but he had another in his hand; and, hurrying up to Annele, he called out--"Is Lenz come home?"

"No."

"Good heavens! here is his hat. My brother-in-law found it in the Igelsw.a.n.g, close by the spot where the wood is floated down. If Lenz has made away with himself! In G.o.d's name! what has been going on here?"

Annele trembled in every limb, and pressed the child so close to her heart that it began to cry loudly. "You are out of your mind," said she, "and will soon drive me mad also. What do you mean?"

"Is not this his hat?"

"It is," screamed Annele, sinking to the ground with the child. Faller lifted them both up.

"Has he been found?--dead?" asked Annele.

"No, G.o.d be praised!--not that. Come into the house--I will carry the child. Be composed--probably he only lost his hat."

Annele tottered into the house. A mist was before her eyes, and she waved her hands vaguely, as if to drive it away. "Was it possible?--Lenz dead? Now, just when her heart was turning again to him? and he has been always faithful to her. It cannot be--it is not so." She sat down in the room, and said--"Why should my Lenz make away with himself? What do you mean by saying such a thing?"

Faller made no answer.

"Can you only speak when no one wishes to hear you?" asked Annele, pa.s.sionately. "Sit down--sit down," said she, striving to control her feelings, "and tell me what has happened."

As if wishing to punish Annele, by paying no attention to her words, Faller continued standing, though his knees trembled. He glanced at her with a look, so full of sorrow and bitter reproach, that Annele cast down her eyes. "Who could wish to sit down by you?" said he at length.

"Where you are, there can be neither rest nor peace."

"I don't want any of your admonitions; you ought to be aware of that by this time. If you know anything of my husband, let me hear it."