In the stillness of the night, as its darkness deepened and the subsiding tempest sounded more and more remote, encouraged by the sense of security and their fortunate escape a confidential conversation arose between Huldbrand and Bertalda.  With flattering words he reproached her for her daring flight; she excused herself with humility and emotion, and from every word she said a gleam shone forth which disclosed distinctly to the lover that the beloved was his.  The knight felt the sense of her words far more than he regarded their meaning, and it was the sense alone to which he replied.  Presently the wagoner suddenly shouted with a loud voice.  “Up, my grays, up with your feet, keep together!  Remember who you are!” The knight leaned out of the wagon and saw that the horses were stepping into the midst of a foaming stream or were already almost swimming, while the wheels of the wagon were rushing round and gleaming like mill-wheels, and the wagoner had climbed up in front in consequence of the increasing waters.

“What sort of a road is this?  It goes into the very middle of the stream,” cried Huldbrand to his guide.

“Not at all, sir,” returned the other laughing, “it is just the reverse; the stream goes into the very middle of our road.  Look round and see how every thing is covered by the water.”

The whole valley indeed was suddenly filled with the surging flood, that visibly increased.  “It is Kuehleborn, the evil water-spirit, who wishes to drown us!” exclaimed the knight.  “Have you no charm against him, my friend?”

“I know indeed of one,” returned the wagoner, “but I cannot and may not use it until you know who I am.”

“Is this a time for riddles?” cried the knight.  “The flood is ever rising higher, and what does it matter to me to know who you are?”

“It does matter to you, though,” said the wagoner, “for I am Kuehleborn.”  So saying, he thrust his distorted face into the wagon with a grin, but the wagon was a wagon no longer, the horses were not horses—­all was transformed to foam and vanished in the hissing waves, and even the wagoner himself, rising as a gigantic billow, drew down the vainly struggling horse beneath the waters, and then, swelling higher and higher, swept over the heads of the floating pair, like some liquid tower, threatening to bury them irrecoverably.

Just then the soft voice of Undine sounded through the uproar, the moon emerged from the clouds, and by its light Undine was seen on the heights above the valley.  She rebuked, she threatened the floods below; the menacing tower-like wave vanished, muttering and murmuring, the waters flowed gently away in the moonlight, and, like a white dove, Undine flew down from the height, seized the knight and Bertalda, and bore them with her to a fresh, green, turfy spot on the hill, where with choice refreshing restoratives she dispelled their terrors and weariness; then she assisted Bertalda to mount the white palfrey, on which she had herself ridden here, and thus all three returned to Castle Ringstetten.