But Aunt Seréna was not to be appeased in this way. She threw back her rustling, purple silk cap-strings with a nervous, trembling gesture (in her the betrayal of vehement emotion), and, standing up, motioned to Johannes to follow her into the vestibule.
Closing the door of the room behind her: "Johannes!" said she, in a voice not quite within control, "Johannes, I will not suffer this! To think of you making me appear ridiculous to others! For shame! And after all the good I thought to have done you! Ought you to have grieved your old aunt so? For shame, Johannes! It is mean and ungrateful of you!"
With a face almost as pale as that of his aunt, Johannes looked straight up into her glistening glasses. There were tears in her voice, and Johannes saw them appear from under the spectacles, and slowly trickle down along the delicate lines of her cheeks.
It was Johannes' turn, now, to feel badly. He was utterly confounded. Who was right—Father Pan or Aunt Seréna? In such straits was he that he would rather be running the streets at such a pace as never to get back again.
The street door stood ajar, the autumn day was drawing to its close in a melancholy twilight, and a drizzling rain was falling. Daatje was standing outside, talking with some one.
"Aunt Seréna," said Johannes, trying hard to control himself, "I know that I am wicked, but I really will be good—really—if only I knew...."
Just then there came from outside a sound which made him quiver with agitation. It thrilled through marrow and bone, and he felt his knees giving way. It was the sharp, rasping sound of steel being held against the whetstone; and through the door-crack he saw the glitter of that beautiful fountain of golden sparks.
It sounded to him like a blessed tidings—like the utterance of mercy to one condemned.
"That is Markus!" he cried, with heightened color and shining eyes.
Aunt Seréna went to the door and opened it. There, bowed over his work, stood Markus. Again, he was treading the wheel of the old cart, the one with the footboard. As before, the water was dripping from his old cap, down upon his faded raincoat. His face was sad, and there were deep lines about his mouth.