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?"