"And now listen, Jo. You want to stab that prig, don't you? And you well know that I never had any liking for him. But now let me tell you that I myself, for days and for weeks, have wanted to do the same thing." "What!" exclaimed Johannes, in astonishment. Marjon hid her face and said: "It is the truth, Jo. Not him, of course, but ... but her." "You do not mean it, Marjon," said Johannes, indignantly. "I am in earnest, Jo. I am not even sure whether I came into her service for that very reason, or for a better one." "My God! How frightful!" exclaimed Johannes, deeply moved. "There you are--alarmed and probably angry. Naturally you think her lovely, and are fond of her. And I am ashamed of myself--heartily ashamed." Again they were silent, and in both those young heads were many turbulent thoughts. "And do you know what helped me most to give it up? Not fear of punishment, nor of judgment, for I dreaded nothing so much as, worst of all, that she might succeed in getting you. But it helped me when I thought how much you loved her, and how you would cry and suffer if you should see her lying dead." Again they looked at each other, steadily and frankly, and their eyes were dimmed with tears. Then said Marjon: "And now, Jo, think of this. I care nothing about that man, nor do you; and doubtless he would not be a great loss. But to her he would be, and indeed if you should kill him, you would bring it about that she would see him dead, and would have to cry. Do you wish to do that?" Johannes' eyes opened wide, and he looked into the lamplight. "Yes," said he, deliberately. "He deceives her and she deceives herself. He is altogether different from what she fancies." Then Marjon, taking both hands from the table, and resting them upon Johannes' arm, said with rising voice: "But Jo, Jo--indeed everything is different from what we think! Who can see just how and what people and things are? I thought that woman hateful, and you thought her lovely. You think that fellow odious, while she thinks him charming. Really, only the Father, knows how things are. Believe me, the Father only. We are poor, poor creatures. We know nothing--nothing." Then, resting her head, with its fair, fine hair, upon his arm, she sobbed bitterly; and Johannes, now completely broken down and mollified, wept with her. Then they heard a door open in the hall. Probably, in their agitation, they had been talking too loudly. Marjon took flight. In a moment of less excitement she would have been too shrewd for that. Johannes did indeed quickly put out the light, but he saw, through the crack of the door, that some one with a candle was standing in the hall. There was a meeting, and Johannes overheard a brief exchange of angry words, in vehement, suppressed tones. The last he understood was: "To-morrow morning you leave." XIV