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The next day some people from Sinzheim, who were walking by the side of the lake, heard groans rising from the depths of the lake, while the surface was stained by three large spots of blood. From that time the three sisters were never seen again at the evening assemblies, and the schoolmaster’s son faded away gradually. He died very soon afterwards.
These three sisters, so gentle, so lovely and laborious, had in nothing betrayed a connection with the spirits of the lower world. The only thing was, that people remembered how the hems of their garments had frequently been wet, a sure sign by which Undines can be recognized. Otherwise they seem to have been very much like other girls, and the severity of the great Nichus appears hardly reasonable.
As to this hour of ten o’clock, however, military rules cannot be more rigorous than his.
It must, on the other hand, not be imagined that all Undines are as gentle and resigned as these three sisters. There are some who bitterly resent having been abandoned by their lovers, and try to revenge themselves; these seem to partake to some degree of the character of the Nixen, or rather,—why should we not say so at once and quite candidly?—they remain faithful to their instincts as women.
As a proof of this statement I will quote a short but perfect little drama, which Miss Margaret Rosahl has, at my request, copied from Busching’s voluminous collection.
Count Herman von Filsen, whose estates lay on the right bank of the Rhine, between Oslerspey and Brauback, was about to marry the rich heiress of the castle of Rheins, on the other bank. His messenger had started to carry the letters of invitation to all the guests, but a sudden rise of the waters had nearly prevented his crossing a small stream. In trying to get over, his horse stumbled, and was drowned. The messenger, however, did not lose courage, but went on his way on foot. Everywhere he found the brooks swollen into streams, and the torrent seemed to press him more and more closely, describing curves and zigzags, with countless cataracts, barring him the way on all sides and making the usual path impassable.
By the aid of a huge stick and jumping from rock to rock, the poor, half bewildered man kept on, walking well-nigh at hap-hazard, till he found himself near the Rhine, into which the swollen torrent, rushing after him with sudden fury, seemed determined to push him.