"And I have a good bed," said Faller, his deep voice sounding almost ludicrous with emotion. "O Lenz, I hardly pray for myself to-day; I pray the Lord God for you. May he keep you from danger; but, if you ever do fall into great peril, may I be the one to rescue you! I long to turn round to the congregation in church and say, 'Behold, by God's help I stand here; but he helped me through my friend, on whom and on whose parents in heaven I pray the Lord's blessing.' You must be happy yourself, Lenz, for you have made a whole household happy." The strong, resolute Faller fell to twirling his formidable mustache; he could say no more. Lenz was almost more an object of respect at the house than the young couple themselves, and was relieved when the party adjourned to the church. The Liederkranz was there, and sang beautifully, though perceptibly weakened by the absence of the two best voices, Faller's and Lenz's. The whole village--certainly all the women, married and single--were present at the wedding. The married were glad to hear the solemn service read again, and the unmarried tried to imagine how it would seem when their turn came, as they hoped it soon would. The matrons wept, while the maidens cast curious glances about the church. If Lenz had looked up, he would have found himself the centre of many eyes. He separated from the bridal party after the ceremony and took his lonely way homeward. At the churchyard gate stood Katharine, the bailiff's daughter, with a nice-looking young man, dressed like one of the peasants from the neighboring valley. She greeted Lenz as he passed, and blushed under his earnest gaze. The next moment he raised his hat politely to the doctor's eldest daughters, who were picking their way through the wet streets, showing their pretty laced boots. "We thought you had gone on a journey," said Bertha, the bolder of the two sisters. "No, I have been all the time at home," answered Lenz. "So have we," retorted Bertha. Lenz was silent. "Are you engaged upon any new work?" asked Amanda. "On a new and an old one too. Our work never ceases." "Is not such constant labor a severe strain upon you?" Amanda asked again. "Oh no; I don't know what I should do without it." "You clockmakers," said Bertha, archly, "are like your clocks, always wound up." "And you are a key to wind us up," replied Lenz, inconsiderately. It was not what he had meant to say; but the right words would not come. "I am glad you pay her back in her own coin, Mr. Lenz," said Amanda. "Our ways part here; we must say good by." "Perhaps Mr. Lenz is going in our direction," ventured Bertha. "Were you not going to Pilgrim's?" Lenz felt his heart beat. He wanted to say yes; he wanted to say he was going to Pilgrim's; but involuntarily, almost in fear and trembling, he said, "No, I am going home. Good by!" "Good by!"