of human love, and of long-forgotten memories.

"Oh! let me go home once--once more," she implored of her lord. "Let me
go to ask my mother's forgiveness, and above all, to crave the church's
blessing on this my innocent babe."

Kong Tolv frowned, and then looked sad. For it is the one great sorrow
of the Elle-people, that they, with all others of the elfin race, are
shut out from Heaven's mercy. Therefore do they often steal mortal
wives, and strive to have their children christened according to holy
rite, in order to participate in the blessings granted to the offspring
of Adam.

"Do as thou wilt," the Hill-king answered; "but know, there awaits a
penalty. In exchange for a soul, must be given a life."

His dark saying fell coldly on the heart of the young mother. It
terrified her for a time, but soon the sweet strange wiles of her
elfin-babe beguiled her into renewed happiness; so that her longing
faded away.

The child grew not like a mortal child. An unearthly beauty was in its
face; wondrous precocious signs marked it from its birth. Its
baby-speech was very wisdom. Its baby-smile was full of thought. The
mother read her olden soul--the pure soul that was hers of yore--in her
infant's eyes.

One day when Hyldreda was following the child in its play, she noticed
it disappear through what seemed the outlet of the fairy-palace, which
outlet she herself had never been able to find. She forgot that her boy
was of elfin as well as of mortal race. Out it passed, the mother
eagerly pursuing, until she found herself with the child in a meadow
near the village of Skjelskoer, where years ago she had often played. It
was on a Sunday morning, and cheerfully yet solemnly rang out the
chapel-bells. All the sounds and sights of earth came back upon her,
with a longing that would not be restrained.

In the white frozen grass, for it was wintertime, knelt the wife of Kong
Tolv, holding fast to her bosom the elfin babe, who shivered at every
blast of wind, yet, shivering, seemed to smile. Hyldreda knelt, until
the chapel-bells ceased at service-time. And then there came bursting
from her lips the long-sealed prayers, the prayers of her childhood.
While she breathed them, the rich fairy garments crumbled from her, and
she remained clad in the coarse dress she wore when Kong Tolv carried
her away; save that it hung in miserable tatters, as if worn for years,
and through its rents the icy wind pierced her bosom, so that the hea