“Men say that I shun them,” resumed the little man; “but it is they that shun me; they do through fear what I should do through hate. Still, you know, Friend, that I am always glad to come across a man when I am hungry or thirsty.” All at once he saw a red glow start into life in the depths of the gallery, growing brighter by degrees and faintly tinting the damp old walls. “Here comes one now. Talk of the Devil and you see his horns. Hullo, Friend!” he added, turning to the bear; “hullo! get up!” The animal instantly rose. “Come, I must reward your obedience by gratifying your appetite.” With these words, the man stooped toward the object lying on the ground. The cracking of bones broken by a hatchet was heard; but no sigh or groan was now blended with it. “It seems,” muttered the small man, “that there are but two of us left alive in Arbar hall. There, good Friend, finish the feast which you began.” He flung toward the aforementioned outer door what he had detached from the object stretched at his feet. The bear threw himself upon his prey so rapidly that the swiftest eye could not have been sure that the fragment was indeed a human arm, clad in a bit of green stuff of the same shade as the uniform worn by the Munkholm musketeers. “Some one is coming,” said the little man, keeping his eye on the light, which was steadily advancing. “Comrade Friend, leave me alone for a moment. Ho there! Away with you!” The obedient beast rushed to the door, backed down the steps outside, and disappeared, bearing off his disgusting booty with a satisfied howl. At the same instant a tall man appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, whose sinuous depths still reflected a dim light. He was wrapped in a long brown cloak, and carried a dark-lantern, which he turned full on the small man’s face. The latter, still seated on his stone with folded arms, exclaimed: “Ill befall you, you who come hither guided by an idea, and not by instinct!” But the stranger, making no reply, seemed studying him carefully. “Look at me,” he continued, raising his head; “an hour hence you may have no voice left with which to boast that you have seen me.” The new-comer, moving his light up and down the little man’s person, seemed even more surprised than frightened. “Well, what astonishes you so much?” rejoined the little man, with a laugh like the breaking of bones. “I have legs and arms like your own; only my limbs will not like yours serve to feed wildcats and crows!” The stranger at length replied, in a low but confident voice, as if he only feared being heard from without: “Hear me; I come, not as an enemy, but as a friend.” The other interrupted, “Then why did you not strip off your human form?” “It is my purpose to do you a service, if you be he whom I seek.” “You mean, to ask a service. Man, you waste your breath. I can do no service to any save those who are weary of life.”