"And yet it is wax," answered Peter. "A real heart would not beat thus; and mine is here in my breast. No, no, you are no good at magic."
"But I will prove it to you!" cried Michael, angrily. "You shall feel for yourself that it is your own heart." He took up the heart, tore Peter's jerkin open, and drew from his breast a stone which he held before him; then he breathed on the heart carefully and put it back in its original place; and as Peter felt the old familiar beat of it, he rejoiced, that it was possible to him once more.
"How do you feel now?" asked Michael, smiling.
"Well, I must confess you were right after all," answered Peter, feeling carefully in his pocket for the little cross. "I could not have believed that anybody could do such things."
"Well, it's possible, anyway! And I can work magic, as you see. But come, I will now replace the stone."
"And, as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in
size, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a
worm."
"Gently, Master Michael!" cried Peter, retreating a step and holding up the cross in front of him. "I laid the trap for you this time, and you have fallen into it!" And straightway he began to pray, saying whatever came to his mind. And as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in size, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a worm, groaning and moaning; and all the hearts on the surrounding shelves began to beat and throb until the place sounded as it might have been a clockmaker's workshop. Then Peter's courage left him; he rushed from the room and out of the house, and, goaded on by terror, began to clamber up the rocky precipice; and as he climbed he heard Michael stamping and clattering and roaring out the most terrible curses, as he rose from the ground to follow him. Having succeeded in surmounting the cliff, Peter set out to run to the Pine-grove; and at the same time a most frightful storm broke out; lightning flashes fell to right and left of him, creating havoc among the trees. But Peter reached the Glassmanikin's domain in safety.
His heart beat joyfully in his breast; but only because it did beat. Then all his past life flashed before him, as horrible as the storm which was laying waste the forest on all sides behind him. He thought of Elspeth, his lovely, gentle wife, whom in his avaricious rage he had murdered; he saw himself as an outcast from society, and he burst into tears as he stood before the mount on which the Glassmanikin had sat.
And there was the Guardian of the Pine-forest, sitting under a pine and smoking a little pipe; but he looked more cheerful now. "Why are you weeping, Charcoal-Peter?" he asked. "Have you your own heart again, or is the cold stone still in your breast?"