anished.

The old fisherman even began to jest with the knight, so pleasantly,
that the aged wife smiled good-humoredly as she listened to them.
Undine at length made her appearance. All rose to meet her and all
stood still with surprise, for the young wife seemed so strange to
them and yet the same. The priest was the first to advance toward
her with paternal arms affection beaming in his face, and, as he
raised his hand to bless her, the beautiful woman sank reverently on
her knees before him. With a few humble and gracious words she
begged him to forgive her for any foolish things she might have said
the evening before, and entreated him in an agitated tone to pray
for the welfare of her soul. She then rose, kissed her foster-parents,
and thanking them for all the goodness they had shown her,
she exclaimed: "Oh! I now feel in my innermost heart, how much, how
infinitely much, you have done for me, dear, kind people!" She could
not at first desist from her caresses, but scarcely had she
perceived that the old woman was busy in preparing breakfast, than
she went to the hearth, cooked and arranged the meal, and would not
suffer the good old mother to take the least trouble.

She continued thus throughout the whole day, quiet, kind, and
attentive--at once a little matron and a tender, bashful girl. The
three who had known her longest expected every moment to see some
whimsical vagary of her capricious spirit burst forth. But they
waited in vain for it. Undine remained as mild and gentle as an
angel. The holy father could not take his eyes from her, and he said
repeatedly to the bridegroom: "The goodness of heaven, sir, has
intrusted a treasure to you yesterday through me, unworthy as I am;
cherish it as you ought, and it will promote your temporal and
eternal welfare."

Toward evening Undine was hanging on the knight's arm with humble
tenderness, and drew him gently out of the door, where the declining
sun was shining pleasantly on the fresh grass, and upon the tall,
slender stems of the trees. The eyes of the young wife were moist,
as with the dew of sadness and love, and a tender and fearful secret
seemed hovering on her lips, which, however, was only disclosed by
scarcely audible sighs. She led her husband onward and onward in
silence; when he spoke, she only answered him with looks, in which,
it is true, there lay no direct reply to his inquiries, but whole
heaven of love and timid devotion. Thus they reached the