joyfully--only because it did beat; but now he looked
back with horror on his past life, as he did on the thunderstorm that
was destroying the beautiful forest on his right and left. He thought
of his wife, a beautiful, good woman, whom he had murdered from
avarice; he appeared to himself an outcast from mankind, and wept
bitterly as he reached the hill of the glass-mannikin.

The Schatzhauser was sitting under a pine-tree, and was smoking a small
pipe; but he looked more serene than before.

"Why do you weep, Peter?" asked he, "have you not recovered your heart?
Is the cold one still in your breast?"

"Alas! sir," sighed Peter, "when I still carried about with me the cold
stony heart, I never wept, my eyes were as dry as the ground in July;
but now my old heart will almost break with what have done. I have
driven my debtors to misery, set the dogs on the sick and poor, and you
yourself know how my whip fell upon her beautiful forehead."

"Peter, you were a great sinner," said the little man. "Money and
idleness corrupted you, until your heart turned to stone, and no longer
knew joy, sorrow, repentance, or compassion. But repentance
reconciles; and if I only knew that you were truly sorry for your past
life, it might yet be in my power to do something for you."

"I wish nothing more," replied Peter, dropping his head sorrowfully.
"It is all over with me, I can no more rejoice in my lifetime; what
shall I do thus alone in the world? My mother will never pardon me for
what I have done to her, and I have perhaps brought her to the grave,
monster that I am! Elizabeth, my wife, too,--rather strike me dead,
Herr Schatzhauser, then my wretched life will end at once."

"Well," replied the little man, "if you wish nothing else, you can have
it, so my axe is at hand." He quietly took his pipe from his mouth,
knocked the ashes out, and put it into his pocket. Then rising slowly,
he went behind the pines. But Peter sat down weeping in the grass, his
life had no longer any value for him, and he patiently awaited the
deadly blow. After a short time, he heard gentle steps behind him, and
thought, "Now he is coming."

"Look up once more, Peter Munk," cried the little man. He wiped the
tears from his eyes and looked up, and beheld his mother, and Elizabeth
his wife, who kindly gazed on him. Then he jumped up joyfully, saying,
"You are not dead, then, Elizabeth, nor you, mother; and have you
forgiven me?"

"They will