That evening there was an exhibition, and Marjon performed her tricks. Johannes felt very proud and important because he belonged to the troupe, and was looked upon by the public as an athlete or an equestrian. He might stand, in topboots and with a whip, at the entrance to the stall, but he must not perform a single trick, nor once crack his whip. When it was good and dark, and everybody was asleep again, Marjon came to summon him. He could scarcely distinguish her figure; but he knew by a soft, grunting sound, that she carried Kees, her monkey, on her arm. She thrust her guitar into Johannes' hand, and said in a low tone: "Move on, now!" They set out hastily and in silence, Marjon taking the lead. First they went by the highway; then they took a footpath along the river; and then, at a ferry, they softly unfastened a small boat, and pushed out into the current. "Keep your wits about you, Jo, and be on the lookout!" "We shall be overtaken," said Johannes, not quite at his ease. "Are you afraid?" "No, not afraid," said Johannes, although the truth was that he was trying not to be; "but where are we going to bring up? And how can we keep out of the way if a boat should come along? We have no oars!" "I wish a boat _would_ come. Then we'd go on with it." "Where do you want to go, Marjon?" "Well, over the frontier, of course. Otherwise they'll catch us. "But Markus!" "We'll find him, by and by--only come on now." In silence the two children drifted out over the still, black water, which here and there bubbled past a floating log, or a barrel. Everything was mysterious. It was pitch dark, and there was no wind. The reeds, even, scarcely sighed. Keesje whined, complainingly, not liking the cold. "But who is Markus, Marjon? Do you know?" "You must not ask that, Jo. You must trust him. I do." Then they heard a dull, fitfully throbbing sound that slowly drew nearer from the distance, and Johannes saw red and white lanterns ahead of them. "A steamboat!" he cried. "What are we going to do now?" "Sing!" said Marjon, without a moment's hesitation. The boat came very gradually, and Johannes saw in the rear of her a long file of little lights, like a train of twinkling stars. It was a steam-tug with a heavy draught of Rhine-boats. It seemed to be panting and toiling with its burden, against the powerful current. They stayed a boat's length away from the tug, but its long, unwieldy train--swinging out in a great curve at the rear--came nearer and nearer. Marjon took her guitar and began to sing, and suddenly, with the sound of lapping water and throbbing engines, the music was ringing out in the still night--exquisite and clear. She sang a well-known German air, but with the following words: "Tho' on dark depths of waters I fear not and am strong, For I know who will guard me And guide me all life long."