t from the bright
sunshine and from the cheerful sight of the human face, for whose
mirror it was created!"

The water in the fountain was indeed wonderfully agitated and
hissing; it seemed as if something within were struggling to free
itself, but Undine only the more earnestly urged the fulfilment of
her orders. The earnestness was scarcely needed. The servants of the
castle were as happy in obeying their gentle mistress as in opposing
Bertalda's haughty defiance; and in spite of all the rude scolding
and threatening of the latter the stone was soon firmly lying over
the opening of the fountain. Undine leaned thoughtfully over it, and
wrote with her beautiful fingers on its surface. She must, however,
have had something very sharp and cutting in her hand, for when she
turned away, and the servants drew near to examine the stone, they
perceived various strange characters upon it, which none of them had
seen there before.

Bertalda received the knight, on his return home in the evening,
with tears and complaints of Undine's conduct. He cast a serious
look at his poor wife, and she looked down as if distressed. Yet she
said with great composure: "My lord and husband does not reprove
even a bondslave without a hearing, how much less then, his wedded
wife?"

"Speak," said the knight with a gloomy countenance, "what induced
you to act so strangely?"

"I should like to tell you when we are quite alone," sighed Undine.

"You can tell me just as well in Bertalda's presence," was the
rejoinder.

"Yes, if you command me," said Undine; "but command it not. Oh pray,
pray command it not!"

She looked so humble, so sweet, and obedient, that the knight's
heart felt a passing gleam from better times. He kindly placed her
arm within his own, and led her to his apartment, when she began to
speak as follows:--

"You already know, my beloved lord, something of my evil uncle,
Kuhleborn, and you have frequently been displeased at meeting him in
the galleries of this castle. He has several times frightened
Bertalda into illness. This is because he is devoid of soul, a mere
elemental mirror of the outward world, without the power of
reflecting the world within. He sees, too, sometimes, that you are
dissatisfied with me; that I, in my childishness, am weeping at
this, and that Bertalda perhaps is at the very same moment laughing.
Hence he imagines various discrepancies in our home life, and in
many ways mixes unbidden with our cir