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Night had come on, when some men who were passing saw the rich Peter Munk lying on the ground. They turned him over, and searched for signs of life; but for some time their efforts to restore him were in vain. Finally one of them went into the house and brought out some water, with which they sprinkled his face. Thereupon Peter drew a long breath, groaned, and opened his eyes, looked about him, and inquired after Lisbeth; but none of them had seen her. He thanked the men for the assistance they had rendered him, slipped into his house and searched every-where; but Lisbeth was nowhere to be found, and what he had taken for a horrible dream was the bitter truth.

While he was sitting there quite alone, some strange thoughts came into his mind; he was not afraid of anything, for his heart was cold; but when he thought of his wife’s death, the thought of his own death came to him and he reflected how heavily he should be weighted on leaving the world–burdened with the tears of the poor, with thousands of their curses, with the agony of the poor wretches on whom he had set his dogs, with the silent despair of his mother, with the blood of the good and beautiful Lisbeth; and if he could not give an account to the old man, her father, if he should come and ask, “Where is my daughter?” how should he respond to the question of Another, to whom all forests, all seas, all mountains, and the lives of all mortals, belong?

His sleep was disturbed by dreams, and every few moments he was awakened by a sweet voice calling to him: “Peter, get a warmer heart!” And when he woke he quickly closed his eyes again; for the voice that gave him this warning was the voice of Lisbeth, his wife.

The following day he went to the tavern to drown his reflections in drink, and there he met the Stout Ezekiel. He sat down by him; they talked about this and that, of the fine weather, of the war, of the taxes, and finally came to talk about death, and how this and that one had died suddenly. Peter asked Ezekiel what he thought about death and a future life. Ezekiel replied that the body was buried, but that the soul either rose to heaven or descended to hell.

“But do they bury one’s heart also?” asked Peter, all attention,

“Why, certainly, that is also buried.”

“But how would it be if one did not have his heart any longer?” continued Peter.

Ezekiel looked at him sharply as he spoke those words. “What do you mean by that? Do you imagine that I haven’t a heart?”

“Oh, you have heart enough, and as firm as a rock,” replied Peter.

Ezekiel stared at him in astonishment, looked about him to see if any one had overheard Peter, and then said:

“Where do you get this knowledge? Or perhaps yours does not beat any more?”

“It does not beat any more, at least not here in my breast!” answered Peter Munk. “But tell me–now that you know what I mean–how will it be with our hearts!”

“Why should that trouble you, comrade?” asked Ezekiel laughing. “We have a pleasant course to run on earth, and that’s enough. It is certainly one of the best things about our cold hearts, that we experience no fear in the face of such thoughts.”

“Very true; but still one will think on these subjects, and although I do not know what fear is, yet I can remember how much I feared hell when I was a small and innocent boy.”

“Well, it certainly won’t go very easy with us,” said Ezekiel. “I once questioned a school-master on that point, and he told me that after death the hearts were weighed, to find out how heavily they had sinned. The light ones then ascended, the heavy ones sank down; and I think that our stones will have a pretty good weight.”