Johannes watched—until the sun's disk touched the farthest end of that glowing path which led up to him.
Then he looked down, and very near was the bright form that he had followed. A boat, clear and glistening as crystal, drifted near the shore upon the broad, fiery way. At one end of the boat stood Windekind, alert and slender, with that golden object in his hand. At the other end, Johannes recognized the dark figure of Death.
"Windekind! Windekind!" cried Johannes. But as he approached the marvelous boat, he also looked toward the horizon. In the middle of the glowing space, surrounded by great fiery clouds, he saw a small, black figure. It grew larger and larger, and a man slowly drew near, calmly walking on the tossing fiery waters.
The glowing red waves rose and fell beneath his feet, but he walked tranquilly onward.
The man's face was pale, and his eyes were dark and deep—deep as the eyes of Windekind; but there was an infinitely gentle melancholy in their look such as Johannes had never seen in any other eyes.
"Who are you?" asked Johannes. "Are you a man?"
"I am more," was the reply.
"Art Thou Jesus—Art Thou God?" asked Johannes.
"Speak not those names!" said the figure. "They were holy and pure as sacerdotal robes, and precious as nourishing corn; yet they have become as husks before swine, and a jester's garb for fools. Name them not, for their meaning has become perverted, their worship a mockery. Let him who would know me cast aside those names and listen to himself."
"I know Thee! I know Thee!" said Johannes.