"'My God, my God!' she moaned, 'why hast thou forsaken me? Take me out of this weary world, as I lie here penitent and fearful, lest the evil one come again to tempt me, and I yield in my weakness and brokenness of heart. The river is black and pitiless, my Saviour; but not so black and pitiless as the world. Save me, oh! save me from myself. How shall I know that thou hast not deserted me? How shall I hope that thou wilt pardon, that thou wilt hear my prayer?'
"The moon, which had shrunk behind a cloud, came softly forth and bathed the image and the shrinking figure at its feet in holy light; while, as the maiden knelt, there passed into her stricken heart a quiet, hopeful feeling, and, looking up half timidly, she pushed back her loosened hair to meet once more the sad, pitying glance above her.
"And then she clasped her trembling hands together, and bent her weary head low down to the very earth; for around the brow of the dead Christ there shone a heavenly halo, blood trickled from the thorny crown and reddened the outstretched hands, and from the soft, compassionate eyes great tears were falling.
"Twenty years afterward, the holy Abbess of Ausfeldt lay upon her death-bed; and the good sisters gathered around her, and even the choristers and little serving-boys; for they all loved her well: and there came into her eyes a light, and to her voice a strength, neither had known for many a day; and just as I tell it to you, mein Herr, she told them the story of the Christ of Ausfeldt. For her name had been Bertha, and it was her own story.
"And she begged that no Christian might ever pass the sacred spot without breathing a prayer for her soul. Ah! mein Herr, many a time have I passed the holy image and almost fancied it smiled upon me as I went."
Silently Frau Gretchen folded up her knitting, and with a sigh toward the river, and another toward the ruined castle, stepped slowly down the garden path, humming dreamily as she walked Schiller's song of "The Mill":
"The mill-wheel ceaseless turneth,
Beside the mill I know;
But she who once did dwell there
Hath vanished long ago."
Catching her thought, I murmured the plaintive words as I passed out of the gateway and down the old, shadowy street. They had "vanished long ago"—the great inheritors and the noble line, the faithless lover and the pure "Lily of Ausfeldt." But the bright, silvery moonlight made clear and distinct the sculptured image I had come to seek. The legend had invested it with an almost living interest, and as I paused before it, with as reverential a feeling as I have ever known in the contemplation of earth's grandest Raphaels or Murillos, I said half aloud, as I lingered for a moment near the quiet river, "O beautiful old German legends! may you live in your purity and holiness in the hearts of the German people as long as the Rhine flows through the pleasant courses and by the fruitful vineyards its wandering spirit loves."