How was he amazed at beholding Pietro Abano, whom he could not but deem dead, speaking loudly, with eyes of rage and a red face, and striding about with violent gestures! Over against him stood little Beresynth's hideous carcase. "So you have got your persecutor," cried the latter with a croaking voice, "who has made you thus wretched, the lovesick godly fool, here under your roof! he has run of his own accord like a silly rabbit into the snare: and you are shillishallying about cutting his throat." "Silence!" cried the large figure: "I have already taken counsel with my spirits; they will not consent; I have no hold upon him; for he is imprisoned in no sin." "Smite him dead then," said the little one, "without your spirits, with your own gracious hands: so his virtue and his sinlessness will not avail him much; and I should be a sorry servant if I were not to stand by you in so praiseworthy an exploit." "Well then!" said Pietro: "let us go to work; take thou the hammer; I'll carry the axe; he is fast asleep now." They advanced toward the door; but Antonio tore it back, to meet the villains boldly in the face. He had drawn his sword; but he remained like a statue, standing with uplifted arm, when he saw two sickly decrepit hermits lying on their knees before the cross, mumbling their prayers. "Do you want anything?" askt his host, rising toilsomely from the floor. Antonio was so astounded, he could make no answer. "Why that drawn sword?" askt the weak stooping hermit; "and wherefore these menacing looks?" Antonio drew back with the excuse that a frightful dream had scared and worried him. He could not fall asleep again; his senses were in such a tumult. Ere long he again plainly heard Beresynth's croaking voice; and Pietro said with a full clear tone: "Have done; thou seest he is armed and warned; he will not trust himself to sleep again." "We must overpower him then;" screamed the little one: "now that he has recognized us, we are quite undone every way. The pious slave will go and give us up to the inquisition tomorrow; and the pious rabble will then be at hand in a trice with their faggots and flames." Through the chink in the door he perceived the two magicians. He again rusht in with his sword drawn, and again found two decrepit old men lying on the ground and whining their prayers. Enraged at the cheating forms, he seized them in his arms and wrestled violently with them; they defended themselves desperately; it was now Pietro, now the hermit, one moment the imp Beresynth, the next a crippled old monk.