THE MARSH KING'S DAUGHTER [13]
the calm of death.
Butterflies fluttered around her, and close by were several
ant-hills, each with its hundreds of busy little creatures moving
quickly to and fro. In the air, danced myriads of gnats, swarm upon
swarm, troops of buzzing flies, ladybirds, dragon-flies with golden
wings, and other little winged creatures. The worm crawled forth
from the moist ground, and the moles crept out; but, excepting
these, all around had the stillness of death: but when people say
this, they do not quite understand themselves what they mean. None
noticed Helga but a flock of magpies, which flew chattering round
the top of the tree on which she sat. These birds hopped close to
her on the branches with bold curiosity. A glance from her eyes was
a signal to frighten them away, and they were not clever enough to
find out who she was; indeed she hardly knew herself.
When the sun was near setting, and the evening's twilight about to
commence, the approaching transformation aroused her to fresh
exertion. She let herself down gently from the tree, and, as the
last sunbeam vanished, she stood again in the wrinkled form of a frog,
with the torn, webbed skin on her hands, but her eyes now gleamed with
more radiant beauty than they had ever possessed in her most beautiful
form of loveliness; they were now pure, mild maidenly eyes that
shone forth in the face of a frog. They showed the existence of deep
feeling and a human heart, and the beauteous eyes overflowed with
tears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart.
On the raised mound which she had made as a grave for the dead
priest, she found the cross made of the branches of a tree, the last
work of him who now lay dead and cold beneath it. A sudden thought
came to Helga, and she lifted up the cross and planted it upon the
grave, between the stones that covered him and the dead horse. The sad
recollection brought the tears to her eyes, and in this gentle
spirit she traced the same sign in the sand round the grave; and as
she formed, with both her hands, the sign of the cross, the web skin
fell from them like a torn glove. She washed her hands in the water of
the spring, and gazed with astonishment at their delicate whiteness.
Again she made the holy sign in the air, between herself and the
dead man; her lips trembled, her tongue moved, and the name which
she in her ride through the forest had so often heard spoken, rose
to her lips, and she uttered the words, "Jesus Christ." Then the
frog skin fell from her; she was once more a lovely maiden. Her head
bent wearily, her tired limbs required rest, and then she slept.
Her sleep, however, was short. Towards midnight, she awoke; before
her stood the dead horse, prancing and full of life, which shone forth
from his eyes and from his wounded neck. Close by his side appeared
the murdered Christian priest, more beautiful than Baldur, as the
Viking's wife had said; but now he came as if in a flame of fire. Such
gravity, such stern justice, such a piercing glance shone from his
large, gentle eyes, that it seemed to penetrate into every corner of
her heart. Beautiful Helga trembled at the look, and her memory
returned with a power as if it had been the day of judgment. Every
good deed that had been done for her, every loving word that had
been said, were vividly before her mind. She understood now that
love had kept her here during the day of her trial; while the creature
formed of dust and clay, soul and spirit, had wrestled and struggled
with evil. She acknowledged that she had only followed the impulses of
an evil disposition, that she had done nothing to cure herself;
everything had been given her, and all had happened as it were by
the ordination of Providence. She bowed herself humbly, confessed
her great imperfections in the sight of Him who can read every fault
of the heart, and then the priest spoke. "Daughter of the moorland,
thou hast come from the swamp and the marshy earth, but from this thou
shalt
Butterflies fluttered around her, and close by were several
ant-hills, each with its hundreds of busy little creatures moving
quickly to and fro. In the air, danced myriads of gnats, swarm upon
swarm, troops of buzzing flies, ladybirds, dragon-flies with golden
wings, and other little winged creatures. The worm crawled forth
from the moist ground, and the moles crept out; but, excepting
these, all around had the stillness of death: but when people say
this, they do not quite understand themselves what they mean. None
noticed Helga but a flock of magpies, which flew chattering round
the top of the tree on which she sat. These birds hopped close to
her on the branches with bold curiosity. A glance from her eyes was
a signal to frighten them away, and they were not clever enough to
find out who she was; indeed she hardly knew herself.
When the sun was near setting, and the evening's twilight about to
commence, the approaching transformation aroused her to fresh
exertion. She let herself down gently from the tree, and, as the
last sunbeam vanished, she stood again in the wrinkled form of a frog,
with the torn, webbed skin on her hands, but her eyes now gleamed with
more radiant beauty than they had ever possessed in her most beautiful
form of loveliness; they were now pure, mild maidenly eyes that
shone forth in the face of a frog. They showed the existence of deep
feeling and a human heart, and the beauteous eyes overflowed with
tears, weeping precious drops that lightened the heart.
On the raised mound which she had made as a grave for the dead
priest, she found the cross made of the branches of a tree, the last
work of him who now lay dead and cold beneath it. A sudden thought
came to Helga, and she lifted up the cross and planted it upon the
grave, between the stones that covered him and the dead horse. The sad
recollection brought the tears to her eyes, and in this gentle
spirit she traced the same sign in the sand round the grave; and as
she formed, with both her hands, the sign of the cross, the web skin
fell from them like a torn glove. She washed her hands in the water of
the spring, and gazed with astonishment at their delicate whiteness.
Again she made the holy sign in the air, between herself and the
dead man; her lips trembled, her tongue moved, and the name which
she in her ride through the forest had so often heard spoken, rose
to her lips, and she uttered the words, "Jesus Christ." Then the
frog skin fell from her; she was once more a lovely maiden. Her head
bent wearily, her tired limbs required rest, and then she slept.
Her sleep, however, was short. Towards midnight, she awoke; before
her stood the dead horse, prancing and full of life, which shone forth
from his eyes and from his wounded neck. Close by his side appeared
the murdered Christian priest, more beautiful than Baldur, as the
Viking's wife had said; but now he came as if in a flame of fire. Such
gravity, such stern justice, such a piercing glance shone from his
large, gentle eyes, that it seemed to penetrate into every corner of
her heart. Beautiful Helga trembled at the look, and her memory
returned with a power as if it had been the day of judgment. Every
good deed that had been done for her, every loving word that had
been said, were vividly before her mind. She understood now that
love had kept her here during the day of her trial; while the creature
formed of dust and clay, soul and spirit, had wrestled and struggled
with evil. She acknowledged that she had only followed the impulses of
an evil disposition, that she had done nothing to cure herself;
everything had been given her, and all had happened as it were by
the ordination of Providence. She bowed herself humbly, confessed
her great imperfections in the sight of Him who can read every fault
of the heart, and then the priest spoke. "Daughter of the moorland,
thou hast come from the swamp and the marshy earth, but from this thou
shalt