And when the evening breezes blow,
And father seeks his own fireside,
He smiles, forgetful of his woe,
But ah! his tears that smile shall hide.
V
Father knows that in his home
Deathlike stillness dwells for aye;
The voice of mirth no more shall come,
And mother sighs the livelong day.
"O Undine, for God's sake, where are my parents?" cried Bertalda,
weeping. "Surely you know, you have discovered it, most wonderful
woman; else how could you have stirred my inmost heart as you have
done? They are perhaps even now in the room--can it be?"--and her eyes
glanced over the gay assembly, and fixed upon a reigning Princess who
sat next to the Duke. But Undine bent forward to the door, her eyes
overflowing with the happiest tears. "Where are they, the poor anxious
parents?" said she; and the old Fisherman and his wife came out from
the crowd of bystanders. They turned an inquiring eye upon Undine, and
then upon the handsome lady whom they were to call daughter. "There
she is," faltered the delighted Undine, and the aged couple caught
their long-lost child in their arms, thanking God, and weeping aloud.
Affrighted and enraged, Bertalda shrank from their embrace. It was
more than her proud spirit could bear, to be thus degraded; at a
moment, too, when she was fully expecting an increase of splendour,
and fancy was showering pearls and diadems upon her head. She
suspected that her rival had contrived this, on purpose to mortify her
before Huldbrand and all the world. She reviled both Undine and the
old people; the hateful words, "Treacherous creature! and bribed
wretches!" burst from her lips. The old woman said in a half whisper,
"Dear me, she has grown up a wicked woman; and yet my heart tells me
she is my own child." The Fisherman has clasped his hands, and was
praying silently that this girl might not prove to be theirs indeed.
Undine, pale as death, looked from Bertalda to the parents, from the
parents to Bertalda, and could not recover the rude shock she had
sustained, at being plunged from all her happy dreams into a state of
fear and misery, such as she had never known before.
"Have you a soul? Have you indeed a soul, Bertalda?" she exclaimed
once or twice, trying to recall her angry friend to reason, from what
she took for a fit of madness, or a kind of nightmare. But Bertalda
only stormed the louder; the repulsed parents wailed piteously, and
the company began to dispute angrily and to side with one or the
other; when Undine stepped forward, and asked with so much earnest
gentleness to be listened to in her husband's house that all was
hushed in a moment. She took the place which Bertalda had left, at
the head of the table, and as she stood there in modest dignity, the
eyes of all turned toward her, and she said: "You all that cast such
angry looks at each other, and so cruelly spoil the joy of my poor
feast, alas! I little knew what your foolish angry passions were, and
I think I never shall understand you. What I had hoped would do so
much good has led to all this; but that is not my fault, it is your
own doing, believe me; I have little more to say, but one thing you
must hear: I have told no falsehood. Proofs I have none to give,
beyond my word, but I will swear to the truth of it. I heard it from
him who decoyed Bertalda from her parents into the water, and then
laid her down in the meadow where the Duke was to pass."
"She is a sorceress," cried Bertalda, "a witch who has dealings with
evil spirits! she has acknowledged it."
"I have not," said Undine, with a heaven of innocence and
guilelessness in her eyes. "Nor am I a witch--only look at me!"
"Then she lies," cried Bertalda, "and she dares not assert that I was
born of these mean people. My noble parents, I beseech you take me out
of this room, and this town, where they are leagued together to insult
me."
But the venerable Duke stood still, and his lady said, "We must first
sift this matter to the bottom. Nothing shall make me leave the room
till my doubts are satisfied."
Then the old woman came up, made a deep obeisance to the Duchess, and
said, "You give me courage to speak, my noble, worthy lady. I must
tell you, that if this ungodly young woman is my daughter, I shall
know her by a violet mark between her shoulders, and another on the
left instep. If she would but come with me into another room--"
"I will not uncover myself before that country-woman," said Bertalda,
proudly turning away.
"But before me, you will," rejoined the Duchess gravely. "You shall go
with me into that room, young woman, and the good dame will accompany
us." They withdrew together, leaving the party in silent suspense. In
a few minutes they came back; Bertalda was deadly pale, and the
Duchess said, "Truth is truth, and I am bound to declare that our Lady
Hostess has told us perfectly right. Bertalda is the Fisherman's
daughter; more than that, it concerns nobody to know." And the
princely pair departed, taking with them their adopted child, and
followed (upon a sign from the Duke) by the Fisherman and his wife.
The rest of the assembly broke up, in silence or with secret murmurs,
and Undine sank into Huldbrand's arms, weeping bitterly.