All about him he could see the sides of the mountains severed as by great, gaping wounds; the trees prostrate; all nature, with its beautiful verdure, burned to cinders; and the rocks cleft and crushed. Upon the top of the mountain, at the very edge of the chasm--an excavation resembling the hole made by fruit-devouring wasps--several pine-trees were still standing. But these last children of the forest were also soon to fall. And in the distance the echo of explosions reverberated through the mountains, followed by the loud sounds of falling stones, as the rocks were shattered with dynamite. "Pan is dead!" His beautiful wonderland was being destroyed; and in the new life which was to be founded upon the ruins of the old one, Johannes knew not where to go. He was frightened and bewildered. But had he not found his Brother again, and for the second time beheld him in a glorified form, clothed in shining raiment? And was he not, even now, in his warm, comforting presence? The thought of this composed and strengthened Johannes. "My Brother," he asked, "who killed Pan?" "No one. His time had come." "But why, then, was he so sad when I asked him about you?" "The flower must perish if the fruit is to ripen. A child cries when night comes and it is time to sleep, because he wants to play longer and does not know that rest is better for him. All people who continue to be like children cry about death, which is only a birth and full of joyful anticipations." "Have Pan and Windekind known you, Brother?" "No, but they have feared me, as the lesser fears the greater." "Will your kingdom, then, be more beautiful than theirs?" "As much more beautiful as the sun is brighter than the moon. But the weak, the frail and timid ones who live in the night-time, will not perceive this, and will fear the glorious sun." For a long time Johannes thought this over. In the far, smoky valley with its mines and factories, a clock struck--farther away another--in the distance still another. Thereupon followed the shrill screaming of steam-whistles, and the loud clanging of bells, and people could be seen pouring out of the workshops. "How gloomy!" exclaimed Johannes. Markus smiled. "The black seed also, in the dark ground, is gloomy, yet it grows to be a glad sunflower." "Brother," said Johannes, imploringly, "advise me what to do now. The beautiful is of the Father, is it not?" "Yes, Johannes." "Then must I not follow after that which is the most beautiful of all I have found in this human world? Do tell me!" "I only tell you to follow the Father's voice where it seems to call you most clearly." "And what if I am in doubt?" "Then you must question, fervently, and, still as a flower, listen with all your heart." "But if I must act?" "Then do not for an instant hesitate, but venture in the name of the Father, trusting in your own and His love, which is one and the same." "Then suppose I make a mistake?"