For a time the old fellow continued to gaze into the earnest eyes of Markus. Then his grotesque face assumed a whimsical grin, and he let himself fall back on his pillow, with a thud. There he lay, dumbfounded, staring at the ceiling—grinning, mumbling, and shaking his head. Johannes heard him whisper, "God-a-mighty!—Jesus Christ—Jesus Mary—God-a-mighty forever—" and so on and on.
Gently, yet not without some bitterness, Marjon asked:
"But, Markus, is he worthy of that? The fellow is half-witted."
Markus replied, "And Keesje, then? Have you not shed tears over him? There is more need for them here."
Thereat the two lapsed into thoughtful silence. At length Johannes, sighing deeply, exclaimed, "Oh, how many enigmas there are! The golden key seems farther away than ever."
"Yet it is nearer," said Markus. "Because you have chosen Me and Life, instead of Windekind and Death.
"The lily of eternal wisdom is a tender flower, which needs to grow slowly, and of itself.
"The Father hath sent us all forth to search for it; but no one findeth it alone.
"Eternal wisdom is like a bashful maiden: she flees from him who pursues too recklessly; but that one who turns aside, and first follows after love—him she coyly comes to find."
When Markus had said this, Marjon blurted out: