so brilliant that it dazzled the eyes of all who saw it. "Take this," she said, as she held it out to Bertalda. "I have had this fetched from below to make amends to thee. Do not grieve any more, my poor child!"
But the knight sprang between them. He tore the pretty trinket from Undine's hand, flung it into the river, and exclaimed in passionate rage: "So then," cried he, "thou still hast dealings with them? In the name of all the witches, abide with them, thou and thy presents, and leave us mortals in peace, sorceress!"
Poor Undine looked at him with fixed and tearful eyes, her hand still outstretched, as when she had offered her present so lovingly to Bertalda. Then she wept, ever more and more bitterly, like an innocent child who feels that it has been sorely misused. At length, wearied and outworn, she murmured: "Alas! sweet friend, I must needs bid thee farewell! They shall do thee no harm; only remain true, so that I may have the power to protect thee from them. But for myself, I must go–go hence in the springtide of my life. Oh, what hast thou done! What hast thou done! Alas! Alas!"
And so Undine vanished over the side of the vessel. Whether she plunged into the stream or was drawn into it they knew not; it might have been either or perhaps somewhat of both. But full soon she was lost to sight in the Danube; only a few little waves
