only his
own?

But as time went on these visions became less frequent, and the
Knight's grief milder; still he might perhaps have spent the rest of
his days contentedly, devoting himself to the memory of Undine, and
keeping it alive by talking of her, had not the old Fisherman
unexpectedly made his appearance, and laid his serious commands upon
Bertalda, his daughter, to return home with him. The news of Undine's
disappearance had reached him, and he would no longer suffer Bertalda
to remain in the castle alone with its lord. "I do not ask whether my
daughter cares for me or not," said he; "her character is at stake,
and where that is the case, nothing else is worth considering."

This summons from the old man, and the prospect of utter loneliness
amid the halls and long galleries of the castle after Bertalda's
departure, revived in Huldbrand's heart the feeling that had lain
dormant, and as it were buried under his mourning for Undine, namely,
his love for the fair Bertalda. The Fisherman had many objections to
their marriage; Undine had been very dear to the old man and he
thought it hardly certain yet that his lost darling was really dead.
But, if her corpse were indeed lying stiff and cold in the bed of the
Danube, or floating down its stream to the distant ocean, then
Bertalda ought to reproach herself for her death, and it ill became
her to take the place of her poor victim. However, the Fisherman was
very fond of Huldbrand also; the entreaties of his daughter, who was
now grown much more gentle and submissive, had their effect, and it
seems that he did yield his consent at last; for he remained peaceably
at the castle, and an express was sent for Father Heilmann, who in
earlier, happier days had blessed Undine's and Huldbrand's union, that
he might officiate at the Knight's second marriage.

No sooner had the holy man read the Lord of Ringstetten's letter than
he set forth on his way thither, with far greater speed than the
messenger had used to reach him. If his straining haste took away his
breath, or he felt his aged limbs ache with fatigue, he would say to
himself: "I may be in time to prevent a wicked deed; sink not till
thou hast reached the goal, my withered frame!" And so he exerted
himself afresh, and pushed on, without flagging or halting, till late
one evening he entered the shady court of Ringstetten.

The lovers were sitting hand in hand under a tree, with the thoughtful
old man near them; as so