She continued in this frame of spirit the whole day:  calm, kind attentive—­half matronly, and half girlish.  The three who had been longest acquainted with her expected every instant to see her capricious spirit break out in some whimsical change or sportive vagary.  But their fears were quite unnecessary.  Undine continued as mild and gentle as an angel.  The priest found it all but impossible to remove his eyes from her; and he often said to the bridegroom: 

“The bounty of Heaven, sir, through me its unworthy instrument, entrusted to you yesterday an invaluable treasure; cherish it as you ought, and it will promote your temporal and eternal welfare.”

Toward evening Undine was hanging upon the knight’s arm with lowly tenderness, while she drew him gently out before the door, where the setting sun shone richly over the fresh grass, and upon the high, slender boles of the trees.  Her emotion was visible:  the dew of sadness and love swam in her eyes, while a tender and fearful secret seemed to hover upon her lips, but was only made known by hardly-breathed sighs.  She led her husband farther and farther onward without speaking.  When he asked her questions, she replied only with looks, in which, it is true, there appeared to be no immediate answer to his inquiries, but a whole heaven of love and timid devotion.  Thus they reached the margin of the swollen forest stream, and the knight was astonished to see it gliding away with so gentle a murmuring of its waves, that no vestige of its former swell and wildness was now discernible.

“By morning it will be wholly drained off,” said the beautiful wife, almost weeping, “and you will then be able to travel, without anything to hinder you, whithersoever you will.”

“Not without you, dear Undine,” replied the knight, laughing; “think, only, were I disposed to leave you, both the Church and the spiritual powers, the Emperor and the laws of the realm, would require the fugitive to be seized and restored to you.”

“All this depends on you—­all depends on you,” whispered his little companion, half weeping and half smiling.  “But I still feel sure that you will not leave me; I love you too deeply to fear that misery.  Now bear me over to that little island which lies before us.  There shall the decision be made.  I could easily, indeed, glide through that mere rippling of the water without your aid, but it is so sweet to lie in your arms; and should you determine to put me away, I shall have rested in them once more,....for the last time.”

Huldbrand was so full of strange anxiety and emotion, that he knew not what answer to make her.  He took her in his arms and carried her over, now first realizing the fact that this was the same little island from which he had borne her back to the old fisherman, the first night of his arrival.  On the farther side, he placed her upon the soft grass, and was throwing himself lovingly near his beautiful burden; but she said to him, “Not here, but opposite me.  I shall read my doom in your eyes, even before your lips pronounce it:  now listen attentively to what I shall relate to you.”  And she began: