"I could speak falsely," continued Annele, "and make you all sorts of promises in this hour of extremity, but I will not; I would rather be torn to bits, than give up a single atom of my rights. All that I said to him was true, and that I said it venomously, is also true." "Then it was all true," cried Lenz, as white as a sheet. "Only remember one thing; you said my good deeds were only a cloak for my indolence, and also that I had behaved ill to my mother. My mother! what will you feel when we meet you, perhaps an hour hence?" Annele said nothing. Petrowitsch, too, paused for a time, and then said:-- "Annele, if he had strangled you for that speech, he would have been beheaded, but God would have pronounced him innocent. Yes! as a landlord's daughter, you are sharp enough, and no doubt you have heard of rascally, worthless waggoners, who, when their horses don't go along fast enough, put burning tow in their ears, till the wretched animals are driven mad with pain. Your words towards Lenz were quite as cruel; they were the burning tow in his ears by which you drove him wild. There is my hand Lenz, you are too soft hearted, and go about, asking every one:--'Give me a kind glance, or a kind word,'--that is pitiable work. But you did not deserve such a punishment. You did not deserve that a she-devil should drive you out of your senses. Give me the child instantly! you are not worthy to carry an innocent child in your arms." So saying, he snatched the child from her; the child screamed, but Lenz interposed, saying:-- "Not so, uncle: Annele, listen to me, don't close your heart against me, I mean to speak kindly to you. Annele, we are both standing on the brink of our open grave." "Heavens!" screamed Annele, covering her face with her hands, and Lenz continued:-- "You, too, are on the brink of the grave," Annele no longer answered, for she had sunk down in a state of insensibility on the floor. CHAPTER XXXVI. VOICES FROM THE DEAD. As Annele fell, she upset the lamp on the table, which came down with a crash, and was extinguished, leaving them in entire darkness. Lenz rubbed Annele's temples with the brandy that he luckily got hold of; she breathed at last, and grasped his hand. He carried her into the next room, and after laying her down on the bed, he hurried back to get a fresh light. Lenz fortunately had an ample store of purified turpentine oil in the house, by which he usually worked at night. The raven, in the kitchen, had broken the large can, and an insupportable smell of rosin penetrated into the room, when the door was opened. Lenz lighted the lamp with the brandy, and the three miserable prisoners looked still more deplorable, by the blue flickering light.