As he was mounting the organ-loft he met the organist, who laughed and said: “I suppose you’re looking for Daniel? He’s still staring at the organ, as though my bit of playing had bewitched him.”
“I’ll drive the witch-craft out of him,” Jason Philip snarled.
Daniel was crouching on the floor behind the organ, and did not stir at his uncle’s call. He was so absorbed that the expression of his eyes made his uncle wonder whether the boy was really sane. He grasped Daniel’s shoulder, and spoke in a tone of violent command: “Come home with me this minute!”
Daniel looked up, awoke from his dream, and became aware of the indignant hiss of that alien voice. He tore himself away, and declared insolently that he would stay where he was. That enraged Jason Philip utterly, and he tried again to lay hands on the boy in order to drag him down by force. Daniel leapt back, and cried with a quivering voice: “Don’t touch me!”
Perhaps it was the silence of the nave that had an admonishing and terrifying effect on Jason Philip. Perhaps the extraordinary malignity and passion in the little fellow’s face caused him to desist. At all events he turned around and went without another word.
“The stage-coach is waiting. We’ll be late!” his wife called out to him.
He turned a sinister face to Marian. “You’re bringing up a fine product, I must say. You’ll have your own troubles with him.”
Marian’s eyes fell. She was not unprepared for the reproach. She was herself frightened at the boy’s savage obduracy, his self-centred insistence on his imaginings, his hardness and impatience and contempt of all restraint. It seemed to her as though fate had inspired the soul of her child with something of the foolish and torturing hatred which she had nursed during her pregnancy.
V
Jason Philip Schimmelweis left the dark basement on the square, rented a shop near the bridge by the museum, and set up as a bookseller. Thus his old ambition was realised at last.