ou that which many a man would have laid down his life to have
had before it was too late. Lenz, a man must not drink when he is
heated;--he might drink his death. Whoever should strike the glass from
his hand at such a moment would be doing him good service. But a man
may be heated in other ways, and then he should drink nothing--should
do nothing, I mean--which will affect his whole life. He might contract
a disease which would be a lingering death to him. You ought not to
decide on any marriage yet, even if it were not with Annele. You are
heated, excited. Let your present fever pass off, and six months from
now think of this matter again. I will make your excuses to the
landlord. He and all of them may abuse me as much as they please; it
won't hurt me. Will you follow my advice, and give the thing up? You
are drinking in a malady that no doctor can cure."

"I am betrothed. There is no use in further words," answered Lenz.

The cold sweat stood upon his brow as he left his uncle's house.

"That is the way with these old bachelors. Their hearts have turned to
stone. Pilgrim and my uncle, they are just alike. Much they know about
it! Here Pilgrim says no one of them is good for anything except the
father, and my uncle says no one is good for anything but Annele. A
third will come presently and say no one is good for anything but the
landlady. They may say what they like. We need no witness. I am man
enough to act for myself. It is time to put an end to this meddling of
outsiders in my affairs. One hour more and I shall be firmly
established in a good old family."

The hour was not over before he was so established. Neither the
warnings of Pilgrim nor his uncle had moved him. One effect they did
have. As he so confidently, with so much pride and firmness, laid his
suit before Annele's father, something within him said, "She will
understand and thank me for giving way to no opposition." It was not a
noble thought.

During the betrothal Annele held her apron to her eyes with one hand,
and with the other kept tight hold of Lenz. The landlord walked up and
down the room in his creaking new boots. The landlady wept, actually
shed tears, as she cried: "O dear Heaven! to have to give up our last
child! When I lie down and when I rise up what shall I do without my
Annele? I insist, at least, that she shall not be married for a year.
Need we tell you that we love you, Lenz, after giving you our last
child? If your mother ha