Ah, she was a guilty thing—that beautiful and fairy girl! for what right had she to sacrifice her celestial nature, and become a mere thing of earth for worms to feed upon, just for a few mortal kisses? True, true—but those kisses! oh, what rapture lies hidden in the spell of that hour when the divine soul, with its cold immaculate brightness, yields to the warmer thrillings of terrestrial love, and melts away in ecstasy beneath the glance of passion-lighted eyes—the pressure of warm sweet lips! Immortals live in a bright round of perpetual purity and lustre. No o’erwrought heaving of the breast—no momentary thrilling of agonising bliss—no melting climax of joy, concentrating in its burning focus a whole life of hope and aspiration—repays the weary soul for all her watchings. Undine had drunk of the intoxicating draught till her lips grew to the goblet. Ah, who can blame her? Who has not tasted moments of earthly bliss so intense that were immortality’s brightest visions spread palpably before him, he would spurn them all? Soon after the knight left the little island, our good old hermit, upon going to Undine’s apartment, as was his wont, saw her not. He searched every where—the garden, the river bank, the thicket which surrounded his little plantation, were all examined in vain. She had fled away upon the wings of love, and, panting with toil and exhaustion, came at last to her knight’s castle, and ran like lightning through the court. What saw she? Lights were glancing in every niche,—loud and boisterous noises of merriment and gaiety echoed through the passages—and, bracing her little heart with the strength of despair, Undine rushed wildly to the great saloon, and saw the knight—her own beloved—him for whose love Heaven and its joys she had lightly thrown away—leading the pretty blue-eyed German girl to the altar. The white-robed priest was there—and, as he completed the ceremony, he raised his unconscious hands and blessed them in the name of the virgin. And the harp and tambour struck up their wild music—and away fled the bride and bride-groom with the joyous throng of revellers to the dance. Undine was not yet _all_ a woman. Revenge, as it were the dying spark of her immortal nature, burst brightly up in her bosom; and, rushing wildly out into the forest, she fell upon her knees and cried vehemently for her mother. She was at her side, and gazing wistfully and fondly upon her, ere the echoes had ceased whispering in the woods. “Execute me this first and only prayer, dear, dear mother!” said Undine—“and forever I release you from the charge of your most miserable child!” “What would you, sweet?”