“And if I have sold my heart,” screamed Peter, “who, but you, is to blame for it, you and the deceitful tricks you played on me with the treasures I was to gain through you? You drove me to seek other help, that has been my undoing, and so the responsibility lies with you.” But scarcely had he spoken before the little Glass-man began to grow bigger. He grew and he swelled until he became a huge giant, his eyes were as big as saucers and his mouth was the size of a baker’s oven out of which flames began to dart. Peter threw himself on his knees, for his stone heart did not prevent his limbs from shaking like an aspen tree. With hands like vulture’s claws the wood spirit seized him by his neck, twisted him about as the whirlwind does the dry leaves, and then dashed him to the ground so that his ribs cracked. “Earth-worm!” he cried, in a voice that rolled like thunder, “I could shatter you to pieces if I would, for you have offended the Lord of the Forest. But for the sake of this dead woman, who fed me and gave me drink, I will give you eight days’ grace. If during that time you do not repent, I will come and grind your bones to powder and you will depart in the midst of your sins.” It was evening when some passing men found Peter Munk lying unconscious on the ground; they turned him over and sought for some sign of life, but for some time in vain. At length one of them went into the house and fetched some water and sprinkled it on his face. Then he drew a deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes, looked around him anxiously, and asked for his wife, but no one had seen her. [Illustration: _Some passing men found Peter Munk lying unconscious on the ground._ (P. 263.)] He thanked the men for their assistance, crept into his house and searched from cellar to attic, but in vain; what he had hoped might prove a bad dream was bitter reality. Now that he was left quite alone, strange thoughts came to him; he had no fear, for was not his heart cold? But when he thought of the death of his wife, it reminded him that his own death would come one day. And how heavily laden with sin he would be! His soul would be weighed down by the tears of the needy, the curses of those he had ruined, the groans of the wretched ones that had been dragged down by his dogs, the quiet despair of his own mother, and the innocent blood of Lisbeth. How would he be able to answer her old father when he came and demanded: “Where is my daughter, your wife?” He was tormented in his dreams, and repeatedly awoke, hearing a sweet voice calling to him: “Peter, Peter, see that you get a warmer heart.” Even when he was awake it was the same, and he knew the voice to be Lisbeth’s. He went down to the inn to divert his thoughts, and there he met Fat Ezekiel. He sat down opposite to him and they began to talk of all sorts of things, the weather, the war, the stars, and at last of death and how quickly some had died off.