For a time deep sorrow fell on the lord of Ringstetten and Bertalda.  They lived long in the castle quietly, often weeping for Undine, tenderly cherishing her memory.  Undine often visited Huldbrand in his dreams, caressing him and weeping silently so that his cheeks were wet when he awoke.  But these visions grew less frequent, and the knight’s grief diminished by degrees.  At length he and Bertalda were married, but it was in spite of a grave warning from Father Heilmann, who declared that Undine had appeared to him in visions, beseeching him to warn Huldbrand and Bertalda to leave each other.  They were too infatuated to heed the admonition, and a priest from a neighbouring monastery promised to perform the ceremony in a few days.

Meantime, when lying between sleeping and waking, the knight seemed fanned by the wings of a swan, and, as he fell asleep, seemed borne along on the wings of swans which sang their sweetest music.  All at once he seemed to be hovering over the Mediterranean Sea.  Its waters were so crystalline that he could see through them to the bottom, and there, under a crystal arch, sat Undine, weeping bitterly.  She seemed not to perceive him.  Kuehleborn approached her, and told her that Huldbrand was to be wedded again, and that it would be her duty, from which nothing could release her, to end his life.

“That I cannot do,” said she.  “I have sealed up the fountain against my race.”

Huldbrand felt as if he were soaring back again over the sea, and at length he seemed to reach his castle.  He awoke on his couch, but he could not bring himself to break off the arrangements that had been made.

The marriage feast at Ringstetten was not as bright and happy as such occasions usually are, for a veil of gloom seemed to rest over the company.  Even the bride affected a happy and thoughtless demeanour which she did not really feel.  The company dispersed early, Bertalda retiring with her maidens, and Huldbrand with his attendants.

In her apartment Bertalda, with a sigh, noticed how freckled was her neck, and a remark she made to her maidens as she gazed in the mirror excited the eager attention of one of them.  She heard her fair mistress say, “Oh, that I had a flask of the purifying water from the closed fountain!” Presently the officious waiting-woman was seen leading men to the fountain.  With levers they quickly lifted the stone, for some mysterious force within seemed to aid them.

Then from the fountain solemnly rose a white column of water.  It was presently perceived that it was a pale female figure, veiled in white.  She was weeping bitterly as she walked slowly to the building, while Bertalda and her attendants, pale with terror, watched from the window.  The figure passed on, and at the door of Huldbrand’s room, where the knight was partly undressed, was heard a gentle tap.  The white figure slowly entered.  It was Undine, who softly said, “They have opened the spring, and now I am here and you must die.”  Said the knight, “It must be so!  But let me die in your embrace.”