"There was no need to tell me that," said Lenz. "I am quite jealous enough already of past days; but not of the future: here is my hand on that. I know you. It pains me to think that others should ever have raised their eyes to you. Let bygones be bygones; and let us commence life afresh."
A pleasant, warm smile lit up Annele's face at these words, as if a certain reflection of Lenz's kindness and simplicity beamed on her, and she was gentle and loving in her manner.
She could not express this, according to her ideas, better than by saying:—"Lenz, there is no need for you to buy me a bridal gift; you don't require to do what others do: I know you; there is something more precious than gold chains." Tears stood in her eyes as she said this, and Lenz never had been happier than at this moment.
The church clock was striking five; when they set off home in the carriage.
"My deceased father made that clock, and Faller helped him," said Lenz. "Stop! it is lucky that it struck me: Faller says that you were offended by some incautious expression of his; he will not tell me what it was. Do not be angry with him, he is often awkward and abrupt, a precise soldier, but an excellent man."
"Possibly; but, Lenz, you have a vast deal too many burrs sticking to you; you must shake them off."
"I will never give up my friends."
"I don't wish you to do so; God forbid! I only meant that you should not act so that everyone can come and persuade you to anything."
"There you are right; that is my failing; remind me of it as often as you like, that I may cure myself by degrees."
Just as Lenz had said this in a humble manner, Annele suddenly stood up in the carriage.