Then Death turned his dark eyes from the clock to rest them upon the down-sunken head. He raised his hand--and all was still. An ashen shadow crept over the stiffening face. Silence--dreary, lonely silence! Johannes waited--waited. But the recurring groans had ceased. All was still--utterly, awfully still. The strain of the long hours of listening was suspended, and it seemed to Johannes as if his soul were released, and falling into black and bottomless depths. He fell deeper and deeper. It grew stiller and darker around him. Then he heard Pluizer's voice, as if from far away. "Hey, ho! Another story told." "That is good," said Doctor Cijfer. "Now you can find out what the trouble was. I leave that to you. I must away." While still half in a dream, Johannes saw the gleam of burnished knives. The cat ruffed up his back. It was cold next the body, and he sought the sunshine again. Johannes saw Pluizer take a knife, examine it carefully, and approach the bed with it. Then Johannes shook off his stupor. Before Pluizer could reach the bed he was standing in front of him. "What are you going to do?" he asked. His eyes were wide open with horror. "We are going to find out what it was," said Pluizer. "No!" said Johannes; and his voice was as deep as a man's. "What does that mean?" asked Pluizer, with a grim glare. "Can you prevent me? Do you not know how strong I am?" "You shall not!" said Johannes. He set his teeth and drew in a deep breath, looked steadily at Pluizer, and tried to stay his hand. But Pluizer persisted. Then Johannes seized his wrists, and wrestled with him. Pluizer was strong, he knew. He never yet had opposed him; but he struggled on with a fixed purpose. The knife gleamed before his eyes. He saw sparks and red flames; yet he did not give in, but wrestled on. He knew what would happen if he succumbed. He knew, for he had seen before. But it was his father that lay behind him, and he would not let it happen now. And while they wrestled, panting, the dead body behind them lay rigid and motionless--just as it was the instant when silence fell--the whites of the eyes visible in a narrow strip, the corners of the mouth drawn up in a stiffened grin. The head, only, shook gently back and forth, as they both pushed against the bed in their struggle. Still Johannes held firm, though his breath failed and he could see nothing. A veil of blood-red mist was before his eyes; yet he stood firm. Then, gradually, the resistance of the two wrists in his grasp grew weaker. His muscles relaxed, his arms dropped limp beside his body, and his closed hands were empty. When he looked up Pluizer had vanished. Death sat, alone, by the bed and nodded to him. "You have done well, Johannes," said he. "Will he come back?" whispered Johannes. Death shook his head. "Never. He who once dares him will see him no more." "And Windekind? Shall I not see Windekind again?"