ke of the head as before.

"Do not be afraid, dear Bertalda," said Undine, "the ugly man shall
not harm you this time." After which she told her whole history,
beginning from her birth, and how they had been exchanged in their
earliest childhood. At first her friend looked at her with serious
alarm; she thought Undine was possessed by some delirium. But she
became convinced it was all true, as she listened to the
well-connected narrative, which accounted so well for the strange
events of the last months; besides which, there is something in
genuine truth which finds an answer in every heart, and can hardly be
mistaken. She was bewildered, when she found herself one of the actors
in a living fairy tale, and as wild a tale as any she had read. She
gazed upon Undine with reverence; but could not help feeling a chill
thrown over her affection for her; and that evening at supper time,
she wondered at the Knight's fond love and familiarity toward a being,
whom she now looked upon as rather a spirit than a human creature.

XIII.--HOW THEY LIVED IN THE CASTLE OF RINGSTETTEN

As he who relates this tale is moved to the heart by it, and hopes
that it may affect his readers too, he entreats of them one favour;
namely, that they will bear with him while he passes rapidly over a
long space of time; and be content if he barely touches upon what
happened therein. He knows well that some would relate in great
detail, step by step, how Huldbrand's heart began to be estranged from
Undine, and drawn toward Bertalda; while she cared not to disguise
from him her ardent love; and how between them the poor injured wife
came to be rather feared than pitied--and when he showed her kindness,
a cold shiver would often creep over him and send him back to the
child of earth, Bertalda;--all this the author knows, might be dwelt
upon; nay, perhaps it ought to be so. But his heart shrinks from such
a task, for he has met with such passages in real life, and cannot
even abide their shadows in his memory. Perhaps, gentle reader, such
feelings are known to thee also, for they are the common lot of mortal
man. Well is thee if thou hast felt, not inflicted, these pangs; in
these cases it is more blessed to receive than to give. As such
recollections wake up from their cells, they will but cast a soft
shade over the past; and it may be the thought of thy withered
blossoms, once so fondly loved, brings a gentle tear down thy cheek.
Enough of this: we wi