table before him. He was going to open it, but he
thought: Why ? All that is written there about
sin I have known for many years. What need for
me to seek or question further ? I must pray, pray
as long as I have the strength. He placed one hand
on the Bible, and laying his head on it, he prayed.
He did not lift his head until he heard Frans turning
the key in the lock. Frans lingered by the door,
and then he said : c Oughtn't you to go to bed ?
There aren't so many accounts to do, are there ? '—
c It's not the money,' he answered. c I have worried
about that long enough. There are other accounts
to be settled.'
He sat in the silence, heavy at heart as he thought
of what Jansje had said. It was true that, without
realising it, he had grown very much like his father.t
It .was true that, that day in the Forest, he had seen
the same look on Floris's face that he had seen on
his brother-in-law's, long years ago, outside the
station. The spectres that oppress a man's spirit
return in his offspring. He had always lived trust-
ing in God, had done his best, as far as possible, to
keep free from transgression, to be upright in his
dealings with others and with himself. How was it
then that he was beginning to lose courage, that a
thought that he dared not even contemplate obsessed
his mind ? How was it that of late he had had the
feeling that a dark power was hovering over him ?
Was it the weariness of old age, the failing of bodily