CHAPTER XXXV.
SMITTEN TO THE HEART.
Lenz and Annele sat without in the sitting-room, neither speaking a word. The child laughed and stretched out its little hands now towards the light, and now towards its father's eyes, that were broodingly fixed upon it. "If we must die, thank God our son is saved!" said Lenz. Still Annele was silent. The monotonous ticking of the clocks was suddenly interrupted by one of the musical works beginning to play a hymn. For the first time the eyes of husband and wife met. Annele changed the child's position on her lap, and clasped her hands over its buoyant bosom.
"If you can pray," said Lenz, "you ought to be able to look into your heart and repent."
"I have nothing to repent of in my conduct towards you; whatever other sins I may have committed, I confess only to God. I have meant nothing that was not kind and honest towards you."
"And I?"
"You did right too, as far as you knew how. I am more just to you than you are to me. You would never put me in a position where I could earn anything."
"And your horrible words?"
"Pooh! words break no bones."
Lenz implored her to be kind and peaceable before his uncle. "Your uncle and the raven in the kitchen tell me we must die," she answered as in a dream.