Annele made no answer. After another interval of silence Lenz arose, saying he would go on digging at the place where he had found his uncle, for if he could dig through to the mountain, he should be able to crawl out and summon help. Annele had her hand stretched out to detain him, imagining the horror of having him buried in the snow, and she and Petrovitsch too weak to dig him out. She had her hand stretched out to detain him, but pa.s.sed it over her face instead, and let him go.

He soon returned, however, and reported the snow to be so loose that every s.p.a.ce filled in again as soon as cleared. There was reason to fear, also, that the snow still continued to fall. The best he could do was to shovel out again what he had been obliged to bring into the house, and push a clothes-press against the entrance, where the battered door no longer served as a protection.

His wet clothes had to be changed for his Sunday suit; it was no wedding garment he put on.

"Five years ago to-day," he murmured, "many sleighs stood before the door of the Lion inn; would that the guests were here now to dig us out!"

Petrovitsch had awaked from a short sleep, but still lay quiet in bed in the sleeping-room. He thought over with calmness all that had happened. Haste and complaints were here equally unavailing. Yesterday he had recalled his whole past life, had lived it over again in a few short moments, and here was the end. He accepted it with indifference.

How to conduct himself towards those in the next room was the question that chiefly occupied him. At last he called Lenz and asked for his clothes, as he wished to get up. Lenz advised him to remain where he was, for the sitting-room was cold and his clothes wet, there being no way of lighting a fire. Petrovitsch, however, still desired to get up, and asked if there was no comfortable dressing-gown in the house.

"One of my father's," replied Lenz; "will you have that?"

"If there is no other, give me that," said Petrovitsch, angrily, while in his heart was a sorrow, almost a fear, at the thought of wearing what had been his brother's.

"You look quite like my father in it," cried Lenz; "quite like him, only a little smaller."

"I had a hard youth, or I should have been larger," said the old man, looking at himself in the gla.s.s, as he entered the room. The cry of the raven in the kitchen startled him; he imperatively ordered Lenz to kill the bird. Lenz's chief occupation, however, for the time was to keep the peace between Bubby and the cat. The dog betrayed his discomfort by continued barks and whines, till the cat was finally shut up in the kitchen, where she did them good service by silencing the raven.

Petrovitsch called for more cherry-brandy, of which Lenz said there were happily three bottles left of his mother's making, at least twelve years ago; with hot water and sugar he mixed himself a nice gla.s.s of grog. "How absurd all this is!" he cried, growing talkative under its genial influence; "I have dragged my body over the whole world, only to be squeezed to death in my father's house. It serves me right; why could I not have conquered that foolish homesickness? Homesickness indeed!" he gave a laugh of derision and continued: "there is an insurance on my life, but of what use is that to me now? Do you know who has buried us here? that man of honor, the stout landlord, destroyed the forest over our heads."

"Alas! he buries his child and his child's child with us," added Lenz.

"You are neither of you fit to mention my father's name," cried Annele, pa.s.sionately. "My father was unfortunate, but he was never dishonest.

If you say another word against him, I will set fire to the house."

"You are mad!" cried Petrovitsch; "shall we thank him for throwing this little snow-ball at our heads? Be quiet, Annele; come, sit here by me; give me your hand. I have something to say to you, Annele; I never fancied that you yourself were quite good and true; but now I see you are. I like you for not letting any word of blame fall on your father.

Few keep loyal to a ruined man. 'Oh, how I love you!' is only heard as long as we have money in our pocket. I like you for it, Annele." Annele cast a quick glance at her husband, whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

"It is well that we should spend this hour together," continued Petrovitsch; "who knows but it may be our last? Let us come to a full and free understanding with each other. Draw your chair nearer, Lenz.

You looked for consolation from your wife in your misfortune. Because you were dissatisfied with yourself and could give yourself no praise, you craved it from others, instead of helping her, the proud Annele of the Lion. You are proud, Annele, you need not shake your head. A good thing pride is; I only wish Lenz had a little more of it. Your turn is coming; don't be impatient."

"Yes," cried Annele; "he deceived me, he said he had given up the security for Faller; it was false."

"I did not tell you so; I only tried to escape from your importunities."

"Your turn is coming. Now tell me one thing, on your honor, Annele,"

continued Petrovitsch. "Did you know when you married Lenz that your father was a ruined man?"

"Must I tell you honestly?"

"Yes."

"Well, then, I swear before G.o.d, that I knew my father was no longer rich, although I thought he had still a considerable property. I liked Lenz while we were rich, but then my mother would not hear of my marrying him. She was very ambitious for her daughters, and especially disliked the idea of one of us living with a mother-in-law."

"For yourself, then, you would have come to my mother had she been living? Pilgrim said you would not."

"If Pilgrim said so, he was right. I said many foolish things as a girl, that I might be thought well of and be praised for my saucy wit."

Lenz looked earnestly at her, and Petrovitsch went on: "Talk no more of that yet, till I ask you some questions. You both deceived each other and yourselves. You both persuaded yourselves you were marrying from pure love, when in reality each thought the other rich; and when that turned out not to be the case, mutual anger and recriminations arose between you. Say, Lenz; did you not think Annele was rich."

"I did think so; but, uncle, that is not the cause of the misery that consumes me,--of my bleeding heart and my burning brain. I thought the landlord was rich, but I did not care for his money."

"And you, Annele?"

"I did not think Lenz was rich. You may tear me in pieces between you if you will; I did not."

"You have not made a full confession yet; one thing, however, you will admit, that you are both sick with the same disease. You, Lenz, prided yourself on your good-nature, and you on your cleverness, did you not, Annele?"

"I did not pride myself on my cleverness, but I am more capable and more experienced than he, and better able to take care of myself. If he had let me have my way, and be at the head of a hotel, we should not now be in misery and waiting for death."

"And what measures did you take to persuade him to do as you liked?"

"I showed him that he was a do-little, a good-for-nothing pin-sticker.

I deny nothing. I took all the life out of him; I said whatever came to my lips, and the more it pained him, the better I was pleased."

"Annele, do you believe in h.e.l.l?"

"I must, for I have it before me. I am in the power of you two men; can any h.e.l.l be worse? You can torment me as you will; I am a weak woman, unable to defend myself."

"A weak woman?" cried Petrovitsch, with unwonted sharpness. "A weak woman? a pretty way, to drive a man distracted with your obstinacy, to drop poison into his heart till he is on the verge of despair, and then say, 'I am a weak woman!'"

"I might tell a lie," continued Annele, "and make promises for the future; but I will not. Rather will I let myself be torn in pieces than give up one jot of my rights. All I said was true, and that I knew it was poison is also true."

"All true?" cried Lenz, pale as death. "Think of one thing you said: that my good deeds were only a cloak for my laziness, and that I ill-treated my mother. My mother! In one hour perhaps we shall stand before her; how can you meet her face to face?"

Annele was silent. Petrovitsch, too angry to speak, sat pressing his teeth against his lips, till at last he broke out: "Annele, if Lenz had throttled you when you said those words, he would have been hung, but he would have been innocent in the sight of G.o.d. You inn-keeper's daughter, used to the wretched rabble that haunts a tavern, you have a quick wit of your own, and hearing from some gallows-bird of a postilion that the way to urge a horse in a race was to put burning tinder in his ears, you laid your words like burning tinder in Lenz's ears, and drove him mad. There is my hand, Lenz; you are a beggar for kind looks and words, which is pitiful; but you have not deserved a punishment like this, to be driven mad by a devil in your house. Give me the child! you are not fit to hold an innocent child in your arms."

The little girl screamed as he s.n.a.t.c.hed her from her mother. Lenz interposed: "Not so, uncle, not so. Listen to me, Annele; I have only kind words to speak. Annele, we are standing beside an open grave--"

Annele shrieked and covered her face with her hands. "You, too, are standing by your open grave," he continued.

Without uttering a word Annele sank lifeless to the ground.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

VOICES FROM THE DEAD.

The lamp was thrown from the table and extinguished by Annele's fall, leaving the four in total darkness. Lenz rubbed her with the brandy, which happily was just under his hand, until she presently drew a shuddering breath and placed her hand on his face. He laid her on the bed in the next chamber, and hastened to strike a fresh light.

The raven, in his flight about the kitchen, had upset and broken a great jug of oil of turpentine, which Lenz kept on hand for use in his night work, and an intolerable smell of resin filled the room the moment the door was opened. He poured brandy into the lamp. A pale blue light spread a ghastly hue over the faces of the buried party.

Petrovitsch laid the child on the bed, and finding its little feet were stone cold, called Bubby to lie upon them. Then he took Lenz by the arm and led him back into the sitting-room, leaving the chamber-door open.

The cat and the raven were fighting together in the kitchen, but were left to settle the quarrel between themselves.

"Have you nothing to eat?" asked Petrovitsch; "it is five o'clock and I am half famished."