"I have now become," he
wrote, "a poor old widower, for my dear and faithful wife is dead.
However lonely I now sit in my cottage, Bertalda is better with you
than with me. Only let her do nothing to harm my beloved Undine!
She will have my curse if it be so." The last words of this letter
Bertalda flung to the winds, but she carefully retained the part
respecting her absence from her father--just as we are all wont to do
in similar circumstances.
One day, when Huldbrand had just ridden out, Undine summoned the
domestics of the family and ordered them to bring a large stone and
carefully to cover with it the magnificent fountain which stood in the
middle of the castle-yard. The servants objected that it would oblige
them to bring water from the valley below. Undine smiled sadly. "I am
sorry, my people," she replied, "to increase your work. I would
rather myself fetch up the pitchers, but this fountain must be closed.
Believe me that it cannot be otherwise, and that it is only by so
doing that we can avoid a greater evil."
The whole household were glad to be able to please their gentle
mistress; they made no further inquiry, but seized the enormous stone.
They were just raising it in their hands and were already poising it
over the fountain, when Bertalda came running up and called out to
them to stop, as it was from this fountain that the water was brought
which was so good for her complexion and she would never consent to
its being closed.
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