Now the little man staggered up, gasping, and when he got opposite Mistress Lisbeth’s door, he broke down altogether beneath his load.
“Oh, have pity on me, and give me a drink of water, mistress!” he panted. “I can go no farther, and am fainting for misery.”
“But you should not carry such heavy loads at your age,” said Mistress Lisbeth.
“Ay, ’tis all very well, but what if I must do errands, because I am poor and have to earn my bread?” he answered. “Ah! a rich woman like you does not know how bitter poverty is, or how welcome a cool drink in such hot weather.”
When Lisbeth heard this, she hurried into the house and filled a glass with water, but as she was coming back, and saw how wretched and careworn he looked, crouching upon his sack, a deeper compassion welled up within her; she remembered her husband was not at home, and turning again, she put the water aside, and brought out a beaker full of wine, with a good loaf of rye-bread, to the old man.
“There, a draught of wine will do thee more good than water, as thou art so old,” she said; “but do not drink so hastily, and eat some bread with it.”
The old man gazed at her in astonishment, till great tears gathered in his eyes. He drank again, and then said:
“I am old, but I have met with few people so compassionate as thou, or who gave their gifts with so sweet and heartfelt a grace, Mistress Lisbeth. But thou wilt surely have a happy life in return, for such a heart does not go unrewarded.”
“Nay, and she shall reap the reward this very moment!” shouted a furious voice—and looking round, they saw Master Peter, crimson with anger, standing behind them. “And I see thou dost give my choicest wine, too, to beggars, and my own tankard to the lips of vagabonds! There is thy reward!”
Mistress Lisbeth fell at his feet and begged for forgiveness, but the stone heart knew no pity; he turned the whip he held in his hand, and brought down its ebony handle with such force upon her fair forehead, that she sank lifeless into the old man’s arms.