him and leant back, half closing her eyes.

Paul sat up and stared around. Each moment of the day was providing
new emotions for him. Surely this was what Columbus must have felt,
nearing the new world. He pulled himself together. She was not angry
then at his outburst, and his caress--though something in her face
warned him not to err again.

"Tell me the rest," he said pleadingly. "Why did he not value Undine's
love, and what made the fool throw it away?"

"Because he possessed it, you see," said the lady. "That was reason
enough, surely."

Then she told him of the ceasing of Undine's wayward moods after she
had received her soul--of her docility--of her tenderness--of
Huldebrand's certainty of her love. Then of his inevitable
weariness. And at last of the Court, and the meeting again with
Hildegarde, and of all the sorrow that followed, until the end, when
the fountains burst their stoppings and rushed upwards, wreathing
themselves into the figure of Undine, to take her Love to death with
her kiss.

"Oh! he was wise!" Paul said. "He chose to die with her kiss. He knew
at last then--what he had thrown away."

"That one learns often, Paul, when it has grown--too late! Come, let
us live in the sunshine. Live while we may."

And the lady rose, and giving him her hand, she almost ran into the