"Perhaps Mr. Lenz is going in our direction," ventured Bertha. "Were you not going to Pilgrim's?"

Lenz felt his heart beat. He wanted to say yes; he wanted to say he was going to Pilgrim's; but involuntarily, almost in fear and trembling, he said, "No, I am going home. Good by!"

"Good by!"

Lenz breathed hard as he went up the hill. He would turn back; who knows what might come of it? He could still overtake them; they were at the Lion by this time; now they must be at the churchyard wall. But all the while he kept steadily on, and, reaching home with a beating heart, fled as for safety into the house. Fled? from what? He knew not what.

He was not himself to-day; he was uneasy and dissatisfied as he had never been before.

In the evening he changed his dress and went into the village, meaning to call on Pilgrim or the doctor, who had long ago invited him. Pilgrim was not at home, and he stood long at the doctor's door without daring to pull the bell. He walked up and down before the house, hoping that perhaps the doctor would come out, recognize him, and invite him in; but neither he nor any of his family appeared. Don Bastian came down the road. Like a thief who hears the pursuer on his track, Lenz fled to the village. There he felt easier, and rejoiced to see a house door standing open. In the Lion he would find refuge. At least one quiet place was left in the world,--a place where there were chairs to sit down on, and tables to eat at, and persons who did not make his heart beat as if it would burst his bosom, but were calm and quiet; and here comes the calmest and quietest of them all and gives him a kindly welcome.

CHAPTER XVI.

A HEART OPENS.

The landlord's manner was truly fatherly, as he sat down by Lenz and entered into conversation with him. "Have you received the money for your musical clock?" he asked, incidentally.

"Yes," replied Lenz.

"You would do well to invest in the new railway; it will pay handsomely. Have you the money still idle?"

"No; I had eight hundred florins by me, and have lent three thousand to my neighbor, the bailiff, to pay his discharge."

"Have you good security? How much interest does he pay?"

"I have only his receipt. He pays five per cent."

"The bailiff is good, and five per cent is good; but, as I say, if you should want to make any investments, I shall be glad to help you with my counsel."

"I like to keep to what I understand; though, of course, I should be perfectly safe in following your advice blindfold. The new work you are to buy of me is progressing finely, and I think will be better than the first."

"Remember, Lenz, I made no promises. A man of honor goes no farther--"

"You have said quite enough. Your word I shall never--"

"As I say, plainness and accuracy should be observed among friends. I would have inscribed upon my gravestone, 'Here lies an accurate man.'"

Lenz was delighted with such solidity of character; here, at least, was pure gold.

"By your leave," said Annele, approaching, and taking a seat at the table with Lenz and her father. The landlord soon rose and left the young people to themselves. "You have reason to be proud of such a father, Annele," said Lenz; "what a man he is! it does one good to talk with him. He says but little, and for that very reason every word is--how shall I call it?--pure kernel, pure marrow."

"Nothing is pleasanter for a child than to hear such praise of a father," answered Annele. "Mine certainly deserves it. He is a grumbler, to be sure, and hard to please, as all men are."

"All men?" inquired Lenz.

"Yes, all. I may say so honestly to you; for you are one of the best of them, though you have your crotchets, too, no doubt. We need to be patient with all of you."

"That is right, Annele. Thank you for speaking so; I do not mean for your praises of me, which are quite undeserved. I cannot tell you how often I am angry with myself. I am always doing the wrong thing. I only half hear and half act because of the tunes that are running in my head. I seem clumsier than other men, and yet am not really so. I am hasty, too, and troubled by things that others make light of. I cannot help it, the devil knows. My mother often said to me, 'Lenz, in spite of all your goodness, you will not make a woman happy unless she thoroughly understands and loves you.' That is true patience and true love,--is it not?--to think, 'oh well, he is hot and hasty just this minute, but I know his heart is right.' Do not draw your hand away, Annele."

In the warmth of his speaking he had taken Annele's hand in his own, as he first perceived by the motion she made to release it. "We are not alone in the room," she said, blushing, and pressing her knitting-needle to her lips; "there are others present."

Lenz turned hot and cold in a moment. "Forgive me, Annele. I did not know what I was doing. I did not mean to be importunate. You are not angry with me,--are you?

"Angry? how can you ask me?"

"But friendly in your heart to me?"

"For Heaven's sake!" said, Annele, laying her hand on the back of Lenz's chair; "don't speak so. How did it all happen? what does it mean? I thought I might speak to you as to a brother; for, alas! I have no other."

"And I have no sister, no one."

"But every one is fond of you."

"Yet, if I need a friend, I have, none."

There was a long pause.

"Do you know," said Annele at length, "that the bailiff's daughter Katharine is engaged to a young fellow from the next valley? They have just, sent for the betrothal wine."

"So?" said Lenz. "I saw her standing with some one to-day, as I came from church. She is a good, honest girl. I wish her all happiness. Were you at the wedding in the church to-day, Annele?"

"Yes, and I saw you there. You deserve to go to heaven for your kindness to Faller?"

"Heaven is easily won then. How well the minister preached, did he not?

There was some good lesson for every one, married or single. The word of G.o.d is like music. Every hearer, though there should be hundreds and hundreds of them, takes the whole without robbing his neighbor."

"I a.s.sure you, I would almost rather hear you than the minister. Every word you speak is so clear, so--I hardly know how to tell what I mean.

I sometimes think it is a pity you are only a clockmaker."

"Only a clockmaker? I am glad I am a clockmaker; it is a n.o.ble calling.

I could preach you a sermon upon it. The world is a clock, wound up by G.o.d from everlasting to everlasting. The stars circle in the heavens, one about another. There are no clocks in Paradise, Pilgrim says. That may be; but from the hour when men had to labor they had to divide the time. Just think, we should be like children and fools if we could not tell the hours!"

"You make all so clear to me! I never thought of that before."

Lenz grew more eloquent under this praise.

"I shall hold fast to my trade of clockmaker. If I can do no better, I will make the old-fashioned wooden clocks; they will at least secure me bread. Musical clocks bring in more money, to be sure, but they can only be made when ordered; and, as lovers of music do not turn up every day, I might find myself with nothing in my pocket. My pet project is to form a clockmaker's union, so that all could work together for the benefit of each. If I could but accomplish that, I would engage to make nothing but standard regulators for the next seven years,--for all the rest of my life, if need be."

"You are very good, I am sure," said Annele; "but your specialty is music."

"Ah, music! when I leave clocks and get back to that I am so happy, so--"

"Your heart dances for joy and keeps high holiday."

"Dear Annele, you are so--ah! if I only knew--"