often passed before them with threatening aspect and gestures; more
especially, however, before Bertalda, so that, through terror, she
had several times already fallen sick, and had, in consequence,
frequently thought of quitting the castle. Yet partly because
Huldbrand was but too dear to her, and she trusted to her innocence,
since no words of love had passed between them, and partly also
because she knew not whither to direct her steps, she lingered where
she was.

The old fisherman, on receiving the message from the lord of
Ringstetten that Bertalda was his guest, returned answer in some
lines almost too illegible to be deciphered, but still the best his
advanced life and long disuse of writing permitted him to form.

"I have now become," he wrote, "a poor old widower, for my beloved
and faithful wife is dead. But lonely as I now sit in my cottage, I
prefer Bertalda's remaining where she is, to her living with me.
Only let her do nothing to hurt my dear Undine, else she will have my
curse."

The last words of this letter Bertalda flung to the winds; but the
permission to remain from home, which her father had granted her, she
remembered and clung to--just as we are all of us wont to do in
similar circumstances.

One day, a few moments after Huldbrand had ridden out, Undine called
together the domestics of the family, and ordered them to bring a
large stone, and carefully to cover with it a magnificent fountain,
that was situated in the middle of the castle court. The servants
objected that it would oblige them to bring water from the valley