"Pooh! words break no bones." Lenz conjured and entreated her at least to be gentle and quiet before his uncle. Annele replied as if in a dream:--"Your uncle croaking, and the raven screeching, tell me too plainly that die we must." "You are not usually superstitious; it would be terrible if you were, for you threw my mother's legacy and the writing out of the window, and called on the storm to come." Annele made no answer, and Lenz after a time rose, and said he would dig deeper into the hole from which he had rescued his uncle. If he could only dig his way through to the hill, he could then make his way out, and bring succour, Annele's first impulse was to stretch out her hand to detain him. If the snow were to give way, and Lenz be buried under it, neither she nor Petrowitsch would have strength to dig him out. She had already extended her hands to hold him back, but she covered her face with them, and let him go. He came back shortly, and said that the snow was so soft, that every hollow sank down quickly, and that he feared it was snowing heavily outside. He, however, shovelled out the snow, that he had brought into the house when digging out his uncle, and dragged a press against the entrance to the house, as fresh snow penetrated through the splintered door. He was so thoroughly wet through, that he was obliged to change his clothes, and it was his Sunday suit, which was also his wedding suit, that he put on. "Five years ago this very day," thought he, "what a number of sledges were standing before the 'Lion!' if the guests that day were only here now to save us from death!" After a short sleep, Petrowitsch awoke, but he lay quite quiet. He deliberately thought over all that had happened. In this extremity neither haste nor lamentations were of the smallest avail. Yesterday he had recalled the whole of his past life; it seemed as if, within that short space of time, he had lived it all again, but now the end is come. He said this to himself quite coolly. How he was to behave to Lenz and Annele, he could not for some time decide. At last he called Lenz, and asked for his clothes, as he wished to rise. Lenz said it was very cold in the next room, and it was impossible to light the stove; moreover, his uncle's clothes were quite wet. Petrowitsch, however, still persisted on rising, and asked, "Can you not lend me a warm dressing gown?" "Yes, I have one belonging to my late father--will you put it on?" "If you have no other, I suppose I must," said Petrowitsch, peevishly, for in his heart it made him sad, and in fact nervous, to wear what his brother had worn. "You look now wonderfully like my poor father," cried Lenz, "as like as possible, only you are not so tall." "I had a hard time of it when I was young, or I should have been less stunted," said Petrowitsch, looking at himself in the glass, as he came into the room.