well, you are so clever. Recall this feeling, if the day comes when you find it dull up here. Those people, who would not believe that you could be happy in solitude, will be surprised."

"Who refused to believe that? No doubt it was Pilgrim, that great artist: a pretty fellow he is; if he does not find angels, he immediately fancies them devils; but, I tell you fairly, he shall never come under this roof."

"Pilgrim said nothing of the sort. Why will you persist in having some particular person to hate? My mother said a hundred times over, the only way to have peace of mind, is to think well of your fellow creatures. I wish she had lived even a year longer, that you might have profited by her wisdom. Was it not well said? You understand everything. When we hate a man, or know that we have an enemy—I never knew the feeling but once in my life and it was terrible indeed—we feel, no matter where we go, or where we are, that an invisible pistol is aimed at our heads. My greatest happiness is, that I hate no one, and no one so far as I know, hates me."

Annele had not listened very attentively to this speech; she only asked: "Who said it then, pray, if it was not Pilgrim?"

"No one, in fact, but I often thought so myself, I own."

"I don't believe that: some one must have put it into your head; but it was very silly in you to tell me of it. I could repeat to you equally, what people said about you; people whom you would little suspect! You have your detractors also, just like other people; but I know better than to irritate you by detailing such foolish talk."

"You only say this to pay me off. Well, I deserve it, and now we are quits, so let us be cheerful again. The whole world is nothing to us now; you and I form our whole world."

And both were indeed as happy as possible, and Franzl, in the kitchen, was often seen moving her lips, which was her habit when she was thinking of any particular subject, and on this occasion she thought thus: "God be praised! it is all as it should be, and this is just the way in which Anton and I would have lived together, if he had not proved false, and married a black woman."

On Sunday morning, Lenz said: "I quite forgot to tell you, that I had invited a guest to dinner today—I suppose you have no objection."

"No; who is it?"

"My worthy friend, Pilgrim."

"You ought to invite your uncle also, it is only proper to do so."

"I thought of it repeatedly, but it is better not; I know his ways."

The church bells in the valley began to ring out, and Lenz said: "Is not that pleasant? My mother said a thousand times, that as we cannot hear the bells themselves, but only the echo from the wood behind our house, it is as if the melody came direct from heaven."

"Quite so," said Annele, "but it is time for us to set off." On the way she began: "Lenz, I do not ask through curiosity, but I am your wife, so you ought to tell me everything, and I promise you faithfully, by that solemn peal we are listening to, that I will never divulge it."

"You need make no vows—never do so, for I have a great objection to strong asseverations. What do you wish to know?"

"Well then, your uncle and you spoke in so obscure a manner on our wedding-day: what did you settle together about your inheritance?"

"Nothing at all: we never spoke one word together on the subject."

"And yet it seemed from your manner that it was all signed and sealed."

"I only said that my uncle and I understood each other; and so we do—we never speak about such things—he can do as he likes with his own."

"And you helped him out of his dilemma; for he was fairly beset and could not have escaped—such an occasion will never come again. He ought to have settled on us, I mean on you, a handsome sum."

"I cannot bear strangers interfering in family matters. I am in no difficulty, and even if he leaves me nothing I can earn what I require myself."

Annele was silent; but it was not a melody like that of the bells, now resounding in clear tones through hill and dale, that filled her heart.

They went on together in comparative silence to church, and afterwards, before going home, they paid a visit to Annele's parents.

Not far from their own meadow. Pilgrim shouted out behind them:—"Include a poor soul in your Paradise." Both laughed and turned round. Pilgrim was very merry on the road, and still more so at table. It was strange that Pilgrim, who had spoken so severely of Annele, now seized every opportunity of praising her. He was anxious to make Lenz forget what he had once said of her, and to make him feel his happiness now secure. After he was gone, Lenz said:—

"I never enjoyed my dinner more than today. What can be better in the world, than to be occupied with your work, and to have plenty to eat and drink, and a dear wife, and a dear friend to keep you company?"

"Pilgrim is certainly very amusing," replied Annele.

"I am also so glad," continued Lenz, "that you have fairly converted him. He was not very fond of you, but he is very different now; you are a witch; you can do what you will with every one."

Annele made no answer, and Lenz repented having told her this as there was no need to do so; but honesty never does harm. He therefore repeated that Annele must feel particular pleasure, in having so entirely changed one who had formerly undervalued her.

Still Annele did not say a word; but she had many a triumph yet in store for her, as she never missed an opportunity, either now or hereafter, of showing Lenz how bad, and wicked, and cunning, and false all men are.

"I never knew that the world was so bad. I have lived like a child," said Lenz, modestly; and Annele continued:—

"But, Lenz, I have seen the world in your place, and become acquainted with hundreds of men in the course of our traffic, I have seen and heard how they talk, as soon as any one turns his back whom they have made a great fuss with, and how they laugh at him for placing any faith in the existence of cordial words, and honest speech. I can tell you more than if you had travelled for ten years yourself."

"But of what use is it?" asked Lenz. "I don't see that such knowledge can do any good. If we go on our straight path, the world round us may be bad enough, but it can do us no harm; besides there are a great many good and upright men:—but you are right, the daughter of a landlord is at home among strangers—you know that, and told me so on that evening when we were first engaged. It must be a relief to you to have now a real home, where no one has a right to come in, and be as free and easy as he pleases, by ordering a pint of wine, and be as disagreeable as possible to other people."

"Oh! no doubt," answered Annele, but no longer so well pleased, for she felt annoyed again that Lenz should not consider her past life a happy one. He might consequently imagine that it was through him she first knew happiness.

CHAPTER XXIV.

ANCIENT HEIRLOOMS ARE DISMISSED, AND A NEW
TONE PREVAILS IN THE MORGENHALDE.

The bridal week, and many other weeks and months have passed away, about which there is not much to relate. Annele laughed at Lenz almost every morning, for he could never reconcile himself to the Landlady of the "Lion" sending up fresh baked white bread to his house from the village. It was not so much the luxury itself; but that people should accustom themselves to