Now that he was quite alone, strange thoughts visited him; not that he was afraid of anything, for was not his heart of stone? But when he thought of his wife’s death, pictures of his own end came unbidden into his mind, and he saw himself going hence, so heavily laden with the tears of the poor and their curses—which had alike been unavailing to soften his heart—with the misery of all the wretched folk on whom he had set his dogs, with the silent despair of his mother, and with the blood of good and beautiful Lisbeth. What account should he give to the old man, her father, when he came and asked, “Where is my daughter, whom I gave thee to wife?” How could he answer the questions of that Being, to whom belong all the forests, the seas, the mountains, and the lives of men?
These thoughts even tormented him at night in his dreams, and he kept on being awakened by a sweet voice that called to him, “Peter, get thee a warmer heart.” But when he was awake, he made haste to shut his eyes again, for the voice that spoke this warning sounded like that of Mistress Lisbeth.
One day he went to the ale-house to distract his thoughts, and there he fell in with fat Ezekiel. They sat down together and talked of this and that, the weather, the taxes, the war, and lastly of death, and of how many people here and there had died suddenly. Then Peter asked the fat man what he thought about death, and what was to come after it. Ezekiel replied that the body was buried, but that the soul would go to its appointed place.
“And the heart?” asked Peter anxiously, “do they bury that too?”
“To be sure,” answered Ezekiel.
“But if one has no heart?” Peter went on.
Ezekiel looked at him with a dreadful expression. “What dost thou mean by that?” he asked. “Art thou mocking me? Dost mean to say I have no heart?”
“Yes, a heart sure enough, as hard as a stone,” replied Peter.
Ezekiel stared at him in amazement, looked cautiously round to see if he could be overheard, and then said: “How comest thou to know that? Or does thine own heart beat no longer, perhaps?”
“It beats no longer,” rejoined Peter, “at least not here in my breast. But tell me, since now thou hast taken my meaning, what will happen to our hearts?”