hen do you now rejoice when my departure is
talked of?"

"Because you cannot go away," replied Undine. "Just try it once, to
cross that overflowed forest stream with a boat, with your horse, or
alone, as you may fancy. Or rather don't try it, for you would be
dashed to pieces by the stones and trunks of trees which are carried
down by it with the speed of lightning. And as to the lake, I know
it well; father dare not venture out far enough with his boat."

Huldbrand rose, smiling, in order to see whether things were as
Undine had said; the old man accompanied him, and the girl danced
merrily along by their side. They found every thing, indeed, as
Undine had described, and the knight was obliged to submit to remain
on the little tongue of land, that had become an island, till the
flood should subside. As the three were returning to the cottage
after their ramble, the knight whispered in the ear of the little
maiden "Well, how is it, my pretty Undine--are you angry at my
remaining?"

"Ah!" she replied, peevishly, "let me alone. If I had not bitten
you, who knows how much of Bertalda would have appeared in your
story?"

CHAPTER V.

HOW THE KNIGHT LIVED ON THE LITTLE PROMONTORY.

After having been much driven to and fro in the world, you have
perhaps, my dear reader, reached at length some spot where all was
well with thee; where the love for home and its calm peace, innate
to all, has again sprung up within thee; where thou hast thought
that this home was rich with all the flowers of childhood and of the
purest, deepest love that rests upon the graves of those that are
gone, and thou hast felt it must be good to dwell here and to build
habitations. Even if thou hast erred in this, and hast had afterward
bitterly to atone for the error, that is nothing to the purpose now,
and thou wouldst not, indeed, voluntarily sadden thyself with the
unpleasant recollection. But recall that inexpressibly sweet
foreboding, that angelic sense of peace, and thou wilt know somewhat
of the knight Huldbrand's feelings during his abode on the little
promontory.

He often perceived with hearty satisfaction that the forest stream
rolled along every day more wildly, making its bed ever broader and
broader, and prolonging his sojourn on the island to an indefinite
period. Part of the day he rambled about with an old cross-bow,
which he had found in a corner of the cottage and had repaired; and,
watching for the water-fowl, he kil