Such thoughts as that actually took possession of Little Johannes' head; for, I have told you, indeed, that Love is nothing to be ridiculed. Fortunately, a wide gulf yawns between thought and deed, otherwise there would be a great many more accidents upon this earth. It was already past midnight, and he still sat pottering and burnishing and sharpening, when he heard again the creaking of the stair, that he now instantly recognized, and Marjon's step at the door. She opened the door, and Johannes looked into her distended, anguished eyes. Her blonde hair fell straight and free over her shoulders, and her long white night-dress reached down to her bare feet. "What are you doing, Jo?" she asked. "You make me so anxious! What has happened? Where have you been the whole long day? Why do you eat nothing? And why are you still sitting up, with a light, till after midnight?" Startled and distressed, Johannes made no reply. The dagger was still in his hand. He tried to hide it, without being observed, under his handkerchief. But Marjon saw it, and asked excitedly: "What is that?" "Nothing," said Johannes, in shame and confusion, like a detected child. Marjon snatched away the handkerchief, and looked from the shining little object to Johannes with an expression of mingled pain and fright. In silence they looked into each other's eyes a long time--Marjon with a searching, beseeching gaze, until Johannes lowered his lids and let his head droop. "Who is it for?" she whispered. "Yourself?" Without speaking or looking up, Johannes shook his head. Marjon sighed deeply, as if relieved. "For whom, then?" again she asked. "For ... him?" Johannes nodded. Then she said: "Poor Jo!" That sounded strangely to him, for when irritated one is not apt to be compassionate toward others nor toward one's self. He thought, rather, to find abhorrence of his blood-thirsty plan. But she said it so sincerely and fervently that he began to weaken, although not to the point of crying. "You will not do it, will you? It would not help at all. And you would ... you would make me so frightfully unhappy." "I cannot endure it, Marjon--I _cannot_ endure it!" Marjon kneeled down by the table, and rested her chin in her hands. Her clear, true eyes were now looking steadily at Johannes, and as she spoke they grew more tranquil. Johannes continued to look at her with the irresolute expression of one in despair who yet hoped for deliverance. "Poor Jo!" repeated Marjon. And then, slowly, with frequent pauses, she said: "Do you know why I can speak so?... I know exactly how you feel. I have felt that way, too. I did not think that this would be the way of it--the way it now is. I only thought, 'She is going to have him, not I.' And then I too said, 'It cannot--_cannot_ be!' But yet it might have been. And now _you_ say, 'It cannot be.' But it can, just the same." Here she waited a while, and Johannes looked at her more attentively, and with less irresolution.