Johannes stood by the bed without stirring, staring with wide fixed eyes at the well-known features. He did not know what he thought; he dared not move a finger, he dared not take the wan old hands, which lay limp on the white linen sheet.
All about him was black, the sun and the bright room, the greenery outside and the blue air he had come in from—all the past was black—black, heavy and impenetrable. And that night he could see nothing but that pale face. He could think of nothing but the poor head which seemed so weary, and yet was lifted again and again with a groan of anguish.
But there was a change in this regular movement. The moaning ceased, the eyes slowly opened and stared about inquiringly, while the lips tried to say something.
'Good-morning, father,' whispered Johannes, looking into the seeking eyes and trembling with terror. The dim gaze rested on him, and a faint, faint smile moved the hollow cheeks; the thin clenched hand was lifted from the sheet and made a feeble movement towards Johannes, but it dropped again, powerless.
'Come, come,' said Pluizer. 'No scenes here.'
'Get out of the way, Johannes,' said Doctor Cypher. 'We must see what can be done.'
The Doctor began his examination, and Johannes went away from the bed-side and stood by the window, looking out at the sunlit grass and broad chestnut leaves on which large flies were sitting which shone blue in the sun.
The groaning began again with the same regularity.
A blackbird was hopping among the tali grass, large red and black butterflies fluttered over the flower-beds, and from the topmost boughs of the highest trees a soft, tender cooing of wood-pigeons, fell on Johannes's ear. In the room the moaning went on—without ceasing. He could not help listening—and it came as regularly, as inevitably as the falling drip which may drive a man mad. He watched anxiously at every interval and it always came again—as awful as the approaching footsteps of Death.
And outside, warm and rapturous delight in the sunshine reigned. Everything was basking and happy. The blades of grass thrilled and the leaves whispered for sheer gladness. High above the trees in the deep, distant blue, a heron was soaring on lazy wing.