Even now, I feel as if my eyes were
growing dark, and thy little face were gliding from my sight. But I can
let thee go, my sweet! God will take care of thee, and keep thee safe,
even amidst this bitter world."

She clasped and kissed the child once more, and, kneeling, calm, but
very pale, she awaited whatever might be her doom.

The priest, performing by stealth what he almost deemed a desecration of
the hallowed rite, began to read the ceremony over the fairy babe. All
the while, it looked at him with those mysterious eyes, so lately opened
to the world, yet which seemed to express the emotions of a whole
existence. But when the sprinkled water touched them, they closed,
softly, slowly, like a blue flower at night.

The mother, still living, and full of thankful wonder that she did live,
took from the priest's arms her recovered treasure, her Christian child.
It lay all smiling, but it lifted not its eyes: the color was fading on
its lips, and its little hands were growing cold. For it--not for her,
had been the warning. It had rendered up its little life, and received
an immortal soul.

* * * * *

For years after this, there abode in the village of Skjelskoer a woman
whom some people thought was an utter stranger, for none so grave, and
at the same time so good, was ever known among the light-hearted people
of Zealand. Others said that if any one could come back alive from fairy
land, the woman must be Hyldreda Kalm. But as later generations arose,
they mocked at the story of Kong Tolv and the palace under the hill, and
considered the whole legend but an allegory, the moral of which they did
not fail to preach to their fair young daughters continually.

Nevertheless, this woman had surely once lived, for her memory, embalmed
by its own rich virtues, long lingered in the place where she had dwelt.
She must have died there, too, for they pointed out her grave, and a
smaller one beside it, though whose that was, none knew. There was a
tradition that when she died--it was on a winter night, and the clock
was just striking _twelve_--there arose a stormy wind which swept
through the neighboring oak-wood, laying every tree prostrate on the
ground. And from that hour there was no record of the Elle-people or the
mighty Kong Tolv having been ever again seen in Zealand.

FOOTNOTES:

[14] The idea of this story is partly taken from a Danish _Visa_, or
legendary ballad, entitled "Proud Ma