He looked back to the open door and the sunny garden outside, and saw the man who had seemed to be following him, now striding up to the house. He came nearer and nearer, and seemed to grow larger as he approached. When he reached the door, a great chill shadow filled the entrance. Then Johannes recognized the man. It was deathly still in the house, and they went up the stairs without speaking. There was one stair that always creaked when stepped upon--Johannes knew it. And now he heard it creak three times. It sounded like painful groanings, but under the fourth footstep it was like a faint sob. Upstairs Johannes heard a moaning--low and regular as the ticking of a clock. It was a dismal, torturing sound. The door of Johannes' room stood open. He threw a frightened glance into it. The marvelous flower-forms of the hangings looked at him in stupid surprise. The clock had run down. They went to the room from which the sounds came. It was his father's bedroom. The sun shone gaily in upon the closed, green curtains of the bed. Simon, the cat, sat on the window-sill in the sunshine. An oppressive smell of wine and camphor pervaded the place, and the low moaning sounded close at hand. Johannes heard whispering voices, and carefully guarded footfalls. Then the green curtains were drawn aside. He saw his father's face that had so often been in his mind of late. But it was very different now. The grave, kindly expression was gone and it looked strained and distressed. It was ashy pale, with deep brown shadows. The teeth were visible between the parted lips, and the whites of the eyes under the half-closed eyelids. His head lay sunken in the pillow, and was lifted a little with the regularity of the moans, falling each time wearily back again. Johannes stood by the bed, motionless, and looked with wide, fixed eyes upon the well-known face. He did not know what he thought--he dared not move a finger; he dared not clasp those worn old hands lying limp on the white linen. Everything around him grew black--the sun and the bright room, the verdure outdoors, and the blue sky as well--everything that lay behind him--it grew black, black, dense and impenetrable. And in that night he could see only the pale face before him, and could think only of the poor tired head--wearily lifted again and again, with the groan of anguish. Directly, there came a change in this regular movement. The moaning ceased, the eyelids opened feebly, the eyes looked inquiringly around, and the lips tried to say something. "Father!" whispered Johannes, trembling, while he looked anxiously into the seeking eyes. The weary glance rested upon him, and a faint, faint smile furrowed the hollow cheeks. The thin closed hand was lifted from the sheet, and made an uncertain movement toward Johannes--then fell again, powerless. "Come, come!" said Pluizer. "No scenes here!" "Step aside, Johannes," said Doctor Cijfer, "we must see what can be done."