stepped up to Johannes.
"Are you not going to give it a look, Johannes? It is an interesting case. The doctor does not know it."
"Leave me alone," said Johannes, without turning round. "I cannot think."
But Pluizer went behind him and whispered sharply in his ear, according to his wont:
"Cannot think! Did you fancy you could not think? There you are wrong. You must think. You need not be gazing into the green trees nor the blue sky. That will not help. Windekind is not coming. And the sick man there is going to die. You must have seen that as well as we. But what do you think his trouble is?"
"I do not know – I will not know!"
Johannes said nothing more, but listened to the moaning that had a plaintive and reproachful sound. Doctor Cijfer was writing notes in a little book. At the head of the bed sat the dark figure that had followed them. His head was bowed, his long hand extended toward the sufferer, and his deep-set eyes were fixed upon the clock.
The sharp whispering in his ear began again.
"What makes you look so sad, Johannes? You have your heart's desire now. There are the dunes, there the sunbeams through the verdure, there the flitting butterflies and the singing birds. What more do you want? Are you waiting for Windekind? If he be anywhere, he must be there. Why does he not come? Would he be afraid of this dark friend at the bedside? Yet always he was there!"
"Do you not see, Johannes, that it has all been imagination?
"Do you hear that moaning? It sounds lighter than it did a while ago. You can know that it will soon cease altogether. But what of that? There must have been a great many such groans while you were running around outside in the garden among the wild-roses. Why do you stay here crying, instead of going to the dunes as you used to? Look outside! Flowers and fragrance and singing everywhere just as if nothing had happened. Why do you not take part in all that life and gladness?
"First, you complained, and longed to be here; and after I have brought you where you wished to be, you still are not content. See! I will let you go. Stroll through the high grass – lie in the cool shade – let the flies buzz about you – inhale the fragrance of the fresh young herbs. I release you. Go, now! Find Windekind again!
"You will not? Then do you now believe in me alone? Is what I have told you true? Do I lie, or does Windekind?
"Listen to the moans! – so short and weak! They will soon cease.
"Do not look so agonized, Johannes. The sooner it is over the better. There could be no more long walks now; you will never again look for violets with him. With whom do you think he has taken his walks, during the past two years – while you were away? You cannot ask him now. You never will know. After this you will have to content yourself with me. If you had made my acquaintance a little earlier, you would not look so pitiful now. You are a long way yet from being what you ought to be. Do you think Doctor Cijfer in your place would look as you do? It would make him about as sad as that cat is – purring there in the sunshine. And it is well. What is the use of being so wretched? Did the flowers teach you that? They do not grieve when one of them is plucked. Is not that lucky? They know nothing, therefore they are happy. You have only begun to know things; and now you must know everything, in order to be happy. I alone can teach you. All or nothing.
"Listen to me. What is the difference whether that is your father or not? He is a man who is dying; that is a common occurrence.
"Do you hear the moaning still? Very feeble, is it not? He is near his end."
Johannes looked toward the bed in fearful distress.
Simon, the cat, dropped from the window-seat, stretched himself, and curled up purring on the bed close beside the dying man.
The poor, tired head moved no more. It lay still, pressed into the pillow; yet from the half-open mouth there still came, at intervals, short, exhausted sounds.
They grew softer – softer – scarcely audible.
Then Death turned his dark eyes from the clock to rest them upon the down-sunken head. He raised his hand – and all was still.
An ashen shadow crept over the stiffening face.
Silence – dreary, lonely silence!
Johannes waited – waited.
But the recurring groans had ceased. All was still – utterly, awfully still.
The strain of the long hours of listening was suspended, and it seemed to Johannes as if his soul were released, and falling into black and bottomless depths.
He fell deeper and deeper. It grew stiller and darker around him.
Then he heard Pluizer's voice, as if from far away. "Hey, ho! Another story told."
"That is good," said Doctor Cijfer. "Now you can find out what the trouble was. I leave that to you. I must away."
While still half in a dream, Johannes saw the gleam of burnished knives.
The cat ruffed up his back. It was cold next the body, and he sought the sunshine again.
Johannes saw Pluizer take a knife, examine it carefully, and approach the bed with it.
Then Johannes shook off his stupor. Before Pluizer could reach the bed he was standing in front of him.
"What are you going to do?" he asked. His eyes were wide open with horror.
"We are going to find out what it was," said Pluizer.
"No!" said Johannes; and his voice was as deep as a man's.
"What does that mean?" asked Pluizer, with a grim glare. "Can you prevent me? Do you not know how strong I am?"
"You shall not!" said Johannes. He set his teeth and drew in a deep breath, looked steadily at Pluizer, and tried to stay his hand.
But Pluizer persisted. Then Johannes seized his wrists, and wrestled with him.
Pluizer was strong, he knew. He never yet had opposed him; but he struggled on with a fixed purpose.
The knife gleamed before his eyes. He saw sparks and red flames; yet he did not give in, but wrestled on.
He knew what would happen if he succumbed. He knew, for he had seen before. But it was his father that lay behind him, and he would not let it happen now.
And while they wrestled, panting, the dead body behind them lay rigid and motionless – just as it was the instant when silence fell – the whites of the eyes visible in a narrow strip, the corners of the mouth drawn up in a stiffened grin. The head, only, shook gently back and forth, as they both pushed against the bed in their struggle.
Still Johannes held firm, though his breath failed and he could see nothing. A veil of blood-red mist was before his eyes; yet he stood firm.
Then, gradually, the resistance of the two wrists in his grasp grew weaker. His muscles relaxed, his arms dropped limp beside his body, and his closed hands were empty.
When he looked up Pluizer had vanished. Death sat, alone, by the bed and nodded to him.
"You have done well, Johannes," said he.
"Will
