Lenz began to shovel away the snow. A piece of fur soon came to view, and laying shovel and pick aside, he set carefully to work, digging with his hands, and bringing the snow into the house in order to clear a space. When he found his uncle, the old man's consciousness was gone. All Lenz's strength was required to drag his seemingly lifeless body out of the snow. He bore him into the chamber, stripped off his clothing, put him to bed, and began rubbing him with all his might, till he at last drew a deep breath. "Where am I?" groaned Petrovitsch; "where am I?" "In my house, uncle." "Who brought me here? who took off my clothes? where are my clothes? where is my fur? where is my waistcoat? it has my keys in it. So you have me at last, have you?" "Be calm, uncle; I will find everything for you. See, here is your fur, and here is your waistcoat." "Let me have them. Are the keys in the pocket? yes, there they are. Ha, Bubby, are you here too?" "Yes, uncle, he saved your life." "Ah, now I remember. We were buried by the snow. How long ago was it? was it not yesterday?" "Scarce an hour ago," said Lenz. "Hear you no help coming?" "I hear nothing. Keep quiet a few minutes while I go into the other room, and get you something to drink." "Leave me the light; bring me something warm." "Serves me right," said Petrovitsch when he was left by himself; "serves me exactly right. What business had I to go out of my accustomed way?" He seemed revived by the brandy Lenz brought him, and caressing his dog, who had nestled close to his master's side, said: "Let me go to sleep now. What is that noise? Is there not a raven crying?" "Yes, one was swept down the kitchen chimney by the snow." "Very well; let me sleep now." 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."