Peter was terrified, his mind was quite disturbed; he ran from the house, and, urged by the anguish of the moment, climbed up a steep rock, for he heard Michel get up, stamping and raving, and denouncing curses on him. When he reached the top, he ran towards the Tannenbühl; a dreadful thunderstorm came on; lightning flashed around him, splitting the trees, but he reached the precincts of the Little Glass Man in safety. His heart beat 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 Little Glass Man. 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 I 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?'