When Lenz was gone, Pilgrim sat for a long time alone, staring at the lamp and twisting his moustaches. He was vexed with himself, he had said all he wanted, but he had said too much, and consequently failed in his object. He could not recall it, for it was all true; but what good had he done? He paced his room restlessly, and then sat down again and fixed his eyes on the light. What a strange world this is! How seldom a man attains his original object in life! We cannot believe this when we are young, and we think the old grumbling and morose, and at last we become just the same ourselves, and find that we must submit to this patchwork existence: no use complaining, we must not expect to have all we wish. Pilgrim could not help recalling distant memories of his hidden life. When he left his native home ten years ago, he felt as if he had courage to conquer the whole world, and was inspired with a sensation of tranquil happiness. He had said nothing, he had made no sign, he had received no pledge, and yet he had no doubts nor difficulties in his mind. He loved the fair, slender Amanda, the Doctor's daughter, and she had deigned to regard him, as a princess would have done. She had condescended merely to glance down on him like a goddess; he helped her in holiday time to affix labels to the foreign plants, on which he had himself written the names distinctly, copied out of a book. She treated the poor forsaken boy like a good and benevolent spirit, and even when he grew to manhood, she often asked him to assist her in her garden; she was always equally amiable and kind in manner, and her every glance was treasured by Pilgrim. And when the day of his leaving home arrived, when he was passing the Doctor's garden, she held out her hand to him over the hedge, saying:--"I have a whole collection of remembrances of you in the flower labels, on which you wrote all the names. When you find these plants in the course of your travels, in their native soil, you will often think of our garden, and our house, where everyone feels an interest in you. Farewell! and return to us soon!" Farewell! and return soon! These were words that went with the traveller over hill and dale, across the ocean and to foreign lands, and many an echo repeated the name of Amanda, with unconscious gladness in the air. Pilgrim wished to become rich, to be a great artist, and thus one day to aspire to Amanda. He came home poor, and in tatters. Many received him with unfeeling derision, but Amanda said--she was grown taller and less slender, but her brown eyes still sparkled with kindness:--"Pilgrim, be thankful that you have not lost your health, and don't be downhearted, but keep up your spirits."