ther!" Walpurga had cried. "Mother, I can. I raise my hand and call
God to bear me witness, I am just as I was when I left home."

Said the mother: "That makes me happy. Now I'm content to die."

"No, mother; let's live together in happiness for many years to come."

"I'm content. And now let me give you a piece of advice; and mind what
I tell you. You've been out in the wide world for nearly a year. You've
been riding about in carriages, while I've been here in the cottage and
garden, taking care of your child. But, for all that, my thoughts went
out into the world, and far beyond, where coach and four never get to.
Now listen to me and obey me."

"Yes, mother; with all my heart."

"Then mind what I tell you. Give yourself time to get used to things
again, and don't ask for anything out of reason. You can't expect your
child to love you yet. You've been away from it so long that it doesn't
know you, and has become estranged. And so you must expect to find it
with everything else. Your husband's been alone for nearly a year; his
lot has been much harder than yours."

Here they were interrupted. Hansei called from the window and asked
them what they were doing out there so late, in the dark.

"And now go to sleep," said the mother. "I've had your bed aired these
three days. Sleep well. Goodnight."

The mother led her daughter by the hand as if she were a little child,
and when they had passed the threshold, she fell upon Walpurga's neck
and hugged and kissed her in the dark.

Walpurga had closed her eyes, and, in thought, recalled all that had
happened during the preceding night. Everything seemed double, just as
with the stars that are reflected in the lake at night, making it seem
as if there were two skies, one above and one in the waters below.

At the thought of the lake, Walpurga arose, quietly dressed herself,
bent over her child and husband for a moment, softly opened the door,
left the room, and went out of the house. She passed through the
garden. The air was filled with the fragrance of the elder-bushes in
the hedge The finch on the cherry-tree warbled merrily, and she would
fain have called out to him: "Be quiet; wake no one till I return."

She passed on. From the reedy banks of the lake, where the water-ousel
and the reed-sparrow were chirping their song, there flew up a flock of
wild ducks, twittering while on the wing.

The sun rose, and the whole lake shone as if a softly undulating golden
m