But the stranger, making no reply, seemed studying him carefully.
“Look at me,” he continued, raising his head; “an hour hence you may have no voice left with which to boast that you have seen me.”
The new-comer, moving his light up and down the little man’s person, seemed even more surprised than frightened.
“Well, what astonishes you so much?” rejoined the little man, with a laugh like the breaking of bones. “I have legs and arms like your own; only my limbs will not like yours serve to feed wildcats and crows!”
The stranger at length replied, in a low but confident voice, as if he only feared being heard from without: “Hear me; I come, not as an enemy, but as a friend.”
The other interrupted, “Then why did you not strip off your human form?”
“It is my purpose to do you a service, if you be he whom I seek.”
“You mean, to ask a service. Man, you waste your breath. I can do no service to any save those who are weary of life.”
“By your words,” replied the stranger, “I am sure that you are the man I want; but your stature—Hans of Iceland is a giant. You cannot be he.”
“You are the first who ever doubted it to my face.”