Lenz set to to shovel away the snow, and very soon a piece of fur came to light. Lenz now worked more cautiously, and, laying aside his hatchet and shovel, he grubbed in the snow with his hands. He was obliged to take the snow inside the house, to gain space, at last. He found his uncle. He was insensible, and so heavy that Lenz had scarcely strength to drag him in. He managed, however, to get him into his room, and, after undressing him, he laid him on the bed. Then he continued to rub him with all his strength till he revived. "Where am I?" groaned he, "Where am I?" "With me, uncle." "Who brought me here? Who took off my clothes? Where are the clothes? Where is my fur cloak, and my waistcoat? my keys are there. So you have got me at last." "Uncle, do be quiet. I will bring you everything. Here is your waistcoat, and your fur cloak too." "Give them to me. Are the keys safe? Yes, here they are. Ah, Bueble! are you there too?" "Yes, uncle, it was he who saved you." "Ah, now I remember! we were buried in the snow. How long ago is it? Was it not yesterday?" "Scarcely an hour since," replied Lenz. "Do you hear help coming?" "I hear nothing at all. Try to rest quietly where you are, while I go into the next room to fetch you some restorative." "Leave the light here, and bring me something hot." When he was alone, Petrowitsch thought to himself, "I deserve it, right well do I deserve it. Why did I go out of my way to meddle with their affairs?" Lenz quickly returned with some brandy, which seemed considerably to revive Petrowitsch, who, fondling the dog that had crept close to him, said, "Now let me go to sleep for a time. What is that? Is it not the cry of a raven? "Yes, one was dashed down the chimney by the snow, into the kitchen." "Well, let me sleep." CHAPTER XXXV. A HEART TOUCHED. Lenz went and sat down beside Annele in the sitting room. For some time neither said a word; the child alone laughed, and tried alternately to grasp the light, and then her father's eyes, that were fixed sadly on her. "Thank God! that if we must perish," said Lenz, at last, "our boy at least is safe." Annele was silent; the clocks continued to tick quietly in unison, and now the musical clock began to play a hymn. The eyes of the husband and wife then met for the first time. Annele changed the position of the child on her lap, and clasped her hands reverently. "If you can pray," said Lenz, after the sacred melody was finished, "I advise you to search your heart, and try to repent." "I have nothing to repent of, so far as you are concerned, and what I really do require to repent of, I shall confide to God alone. I never wished to be unkind to you, I tried to be good and upright always." "And I?" "And you, too, did the same, so far as you could; I am more just towards you, than you are to me; you would not let me even try to earn a living." "And all your harsh and dreadful words----"