Erik, too, had closed his eyes, and was dreaming happily, when he was awakened by the brush of something light and soft, across his pillow.
Starting up, he saw that the moon was still brilliant, and in its clearest rays stood a faint white figure, with shadowy wings outstretched behind it.
A vapoury garment enveloped it, and the face seemed young and beautiful.
"Oh, how wonderful! How wonderful you are!" cried Erik. "Why have I never seen you before?"
"I am Vanda, the Spirit of the Moon," said the Angel gently. "Only to those who are in need of help can I become visible. Your mother knows me well. Winter and summer, I have soothed her to sleep; and to-night, as you looked from the window, your thoughts joined mine, and I was able to come to you. What will you ask of me?"
"Oh, Vanda, dear Vanda! Show me how to help my mother; I ask nothing else!" cried Erik.
He jumped from his bed, and threw himself at the feet of the shadowy Angel.
"Do you see that window?" said the Moon-Spirit, pointing to the small panes that were now covered with a delicate tracery of glittering frost-work. "Of what do those patterns remind you?"
"Of flowers!" cried Erik. "I have often thought so. Sometimes I can see grasses, and boughs, and roses, but always lilies, because they are so white and spotless."