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the full moon had already risen， and was shining in all her radiant splendor over the earth， when from the thicket， in the form of a frog， crept poor Helga. She stood still by the corpse of the Christian priest， and the carcase of the dead horse. She looked at them with eyes that seemed to weep， and from the frog's head came forth a croaking sound， as when a child bursts into tears. She threw herself first upon one， and then upon the other； brought water in her hand， which， from being webbed， was large and hollow， and poured it over them； but they were dead， and dead they would remain. She understood that at last. Soon wild animals would come and tear their dead bodies； but no， that must not happen. Then she dug up the earth， as deep as she was able， that she might prepare a grave for them. She had nothing but a branch of a tree and her two hands， between the fingers of which the webbed skin stretched， and they were torn by the work， while the blood ran down her hands. She saw at last that her work would be useless， more than she could accomplish； so she fetched more water， and washed the face of the dead， and then covered it with fresh GREen leaves； she also brought large boughs and spread over him， and scattered dried leaves between the branches. Then she brought the heaviest stones that she could carry， and laid them over the dead body， filling up the crevices with moss， till she thought she had fenced in his resting-place strongly enough. The difficult task had employed her the whole night； and as the sun broke forth， there stood the beautiful Helga in all her loveliness， with her bleeding hands， and， for the first time， with tears on her maiden cheeks. It was， in this transformation， as if two natures were striving together within her； her whole frame trembled， and she looked around her as if she had just awoke from a painful dream. She leaned for support against the trunk of a slender tree， and at last climbed to the topmost branches， like a cat， and seated herself firmly upon them. She remained there the whole day， sitting alone， like a frightened squirrel， in the silent solitude of the wood， where the rest and stillness is as 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 arise. The sunlight shining into thy inmost soul proves the origin from which thou hast really sprung， and has restored the body to its natural form. I am come to thee from the land of the dead， and thou also must pass through the valley to reach the holy mountains where mercy and perfection dwell. I cannot lead thee to Hedeby that thou mayst receive Christian baptism， for first thou must remove the thick veil with which the waters of the moorland are shrouded， and bring forth from its depths the living author of thy being and thy life. Till this is done， thou canst not receive consecration.”
then he lifted her on the horse and gave her a golden censer， similar to those she had already seen at the Viking's house. A sweet perfume arose from it， while the open wound in the forehead of the slain priest， shone with the rays of a diamond. He took the cross from the grave， and held it aloft， and now they rode through the air over the rustling trees， over the hills where warriors lay buried each by his dead war-horse； and the brazen monumental figures rose up and galloped forth， and stationed themselves on the summits of the hills. The golden crescent on their foreheads， fastened with golden knots， glittered in the moonlight， and their mantles floated in the wind. The dragon， that guards buried treasure， lifted his head and gazed after them. The goblins and the satyrs peeped out from beneath the hills， and flitted to and fro in the fields， waving blue， red， and GREen torches， like the glowing sparks in burning paper. Over woodland and heath， flood and fen， they flew on， till they reached the wild moor， over which they hovered in broad circles. The Christian priest held the cross aloft， and it glittered like gold， while from his lips sounded pious prayers. Beautiful Helga's voice joined with his in the hymns he sung， as a child joins in her mother's song. She swung the censer， and a wonderful fragrance of incense arose from it； so powerful， that the reeds and rushes of the moor burst forth into blossom. Each germ came forth from the deep ground： all that had life raised itself. Blooming water-lilies spread themselves forth like a carpet of wrought flowers， and upon them lay a slumbering woman， young and beautiful. Helga fancied that it was her own image she saw reflected in the still water. But it was her mother she beheld， the wife of the Marsh King， the princess from the land of the Nile.
the dead Christian priest desired that the sleeping woman should be lifted on the horse， but the horse sank beneath the load， as if he had been a funeral pall fluttering in the wind. But the sign of the cross made the airy phantom strong， and then the three rode away from the marsh to firm ground.
At the same moment the cock crew in the Viking's castle， and the dream figures dissolved and floated away in the air， but mother and daughter stood opposite to each other.
“Am I looking at my own image in the deep water？” said the mother.
“Is it myself that I see represented on a white shield？” cried the daughter.
