Do not judge him too harshly, for he was still more boy than man. And how few _men_ even there are with such clear good sense that they impute the variance solely to their own weakness and stupidity, and do not become dismayed and embittered when the world differs from them. Johannes, then, was angry--furiously angry. That surely was not sensible, but yet it proved that he had more stamina than had Labbekak and Goedzak. And all his anger was directed against that person who had thrust him aside from the place which he had so long, without being aware of it, considered his own. He thought Van Lieverlee not only a tiresome fool, but also an odious, abominable monster that ought to be exterminated. And as his fancy pictured other figures, and he thought of that other hated being, Marjon's sister, and then again of Van Lieverlee, and his dear, beautiful, winsome friend, he found himself closely and frightfully besieged by insupportable thoughts--as if in a fire-begirt city, all aglow and scorching, with ever narrowing streets. It was impossible to cry. At other times, as you surely must have observed, his tears came quickly enough. But now his eyes seemed to have been cauterized. Eyes, heart, brains, and ideas--all were equally hot and dry, and strained and distressed. He went home at night with no idea of the hour. He had eaten nothing, but felt neither hunger nor thirst. Where he had been for so long, he was unable to tell. He went to his room and began trifling with his knickknacks--his souvenirs, books, and little treasures--for he was a collector. His hostess came to rap at his door and to ask what was the matter--where he had been, and why he had been absent from his afternoon lessons. But Johannes did not invite her in, and said that he wished to be alone. And she, half surmising the truth, and distressed about it, did not insist. Then, among his treasures, Johannes found a pair of compasses--a large pair, one arm of which could be loosened for the attachment of a tracing-pen. And that single, loosened compass-arm was a shining, three-cornered bit of steel, about a finger long, and as sharp as a lancet. With some wood and leather he contrived a handle for that bit of steel, and then he had a dagger--a real, wicked, dangerous dagger. Apparently he did this merely to pass away the time, but after it was finished he began to think what could be done with it. Then what he _wished_ to do with it. And at last _how_ he should do it, _if_, indeed, he was to do it. Thus, he was already a good bit on in an ugly way. The octopus that he had defied so bravely had laid for him a trap of which he was not aware; for it has many more than eight arms, and there are many more demons than those whose acquaintance Johannes had already made. He was going to step up to Van Lieverlee and say to him, "You or I." And if Van Lieverlee should then laugh at him, as he most likely would, he would stab him to death.