my heart."

Michael stared at him perplexedly. "And is it not so?" he asked. "Can
you feel your heart? Is it not as cold as ice? Do you know what it is
to be afraid, or sorry, or remorseful?"

"You have only made my heart stop still; but it is still here in my
breast; and Ezekiel, also, agrees with me that you have imposed on
both of us. You are not the sort of man who could tear anybody's heart
out of their breast without their knowledge, or without danger to
them--that would be witchcraft indeed!"

"But I assure you," cried Michael angrily, "you and Ezekiel and all
those who came to me and are now rich have cold hearts in their bosoms
just as you have, and their own hearts I have here in my keeping."

"Ah; how glibly the lies slip off your tongue," laughed Peter. "You may
tell that story to other people. Do you think I did not come across
dozens of such conjuring tricks when on my travels? The hearts here in
this room are made of wax. You are a wealthy fellow--I will concede so
much, but you are a fool at magic."

The giant flew into a rage, and, flinging open the door to the inner
room, he cried: "Come in here and read all the labels, especially that
one there; look, that is Peter Munk's heart. See how it beats! Do you
think it is possible to make such a thing as that out of wax?"

"And yet it is wax," answered Peter. "A real heart would not beat thus;
and mine is here in my breast. No, no, you are no good at magic."

"But I will prove it to you!" cried Michael, angrily. "You shall feel
for yourself that it is your own heart." He took up the heart, tore
Peter's jerkin open, and drew from his breast a stone which he held
before him; then he breathed on the heart carefully and put it back in
its original place; and as Peter felt the old familiar beat of it, he
rejoiced, that it was possible to him once more.

"How do you feel now?" asked Michael, smiling.

"Well, I must confess you were right after all," answered Peter,
feeling carefully in his pocket for the little cross. "I could not have
believed that anybody could do such things."

"Well, it's possible, anyway! And I can work magic, as you see. But
come, I will now replace the stone."

[Illustration: "And, as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in
size, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a
worm."]

"Gently, Master Michael!" cried Peter, retreating a step and holding up
the cross in front of him. "I laid the trap for