In the meanwhile Lenz was sitting alone. He was quite worn out with fatigue, and yet he could find no rest. He walked up and down the room restlessly, like a wild beast in his cage. He might justly have uttered many more complaints to the Doctor, for he was really suffering severely, and all at once he exclaimed in the bitterness of his heart:--"Alas, alas! to be ill, with an unkind wife! not to be able to go away--here must I be, and submit to her humours and to all her bitter speeches. She will say that my invalid fancies proceed only from folly, and my best friends dare not come to see me. To feel so ill, and to be dependent on the kindness of a malignant woman! Death from my own hand would be preferable!" The wind extinguished the fire, and the house was filled with smoke. Lenz opened the window and stood long looking out:--"There is no longer a light at the blacksmith's; he is buried in the dark earth: happy the man who can be at rest like him, and out of misery!" The air was warm, singularly warm; water was dripping from the roof; the wind was rushing and raging over hill and valley, and there were crashes in the air, as if one blast of wind came in collision with another, driving it forwards. On the hill behind the house there sounded a constant rolling and rumbling; as if the storm were savage at being deprived of the wood in which it was accustomed to career at will; and now the blast wreaks its wrath on the old chesnut trees and pines close to the house while they sway about wildly, and creak and strain. It is most fortunate that the house is so strongly built; one of the old fashioned kind, made of whole logs of timber laid crossways, otherwise there would be good reason to fear that the hurricane would sweep away the house and all in it. "That would be famous!" Lenz laughed bitterly; but he often looked over his shoulder in terror, for the old beams cracked today, as if the house knew what was going on within its walls. Such a night and such a mood, no inhabitant of this house had ever known; neither Lenz's father, nor grandfather, nor great grandfather. He went to fetch writing materials, and found himself, by chance, with the light in his hand opposite the looking glass, staring at a human face with wild, sunken eyes. At last he sat down and wrote; he paused repeatedly, pressed his hand to his eyes, and then wrote on again hurriedly. He rubbed his eyes but no tears came to his relief:--"You can no longer weep; you have too much sorrow for one man to bear," said he in a low voice. He wrote:-- "BROTHER OF MY HEART!