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then they came nearer to each other in a fond embrace. The mother's heart beat quickly， and she understood the quickened pulses. “My child！” she exclaimed， “the flower of my heart—my lotus flower of the deep water！” and she embraced her child again and wept， and the tears were as a baptism of new life and love for Helga. “In swan's plumage I came here，” said the mother， “and here I threw off my feather dress. Then I sank down through the wavering ground， deep into the marsh beneath， which closed like a wall around me； I found myself after a while in fresher water； still a power drew me down deeper and deeper. I felt the weight of sleep upon my eyelids. Then I slept， and dreams hovered round me. It seemed to me as if I were again in the pyramids of Egypt， and yet the waving elder trunk that had frightened me on the moor stood ever before me. I observed the clefts and wrinkles in the stem； they shone forth in strange colors， and took the form of hieroglyphics. It was the mummy case on which I gazed. At last it burst， and forth stepped the thousand years' old king， the mummy form， black as pitch， black as the shining wood-snail， or the slimy mud of the swamp. Whether it was really the mummy or the Marsh King I know not. He seized me in his arms， and I felt as if I must die. When I recovered myself， I found in my bosom a little bird， flapping its wings， twittering and fluttering. The bird flew away from my bosom， upwards towards the dark， heavy canopy above me， but a long， GREen band kept it fastened to me. I heard and understood the tenor of its longings. Freedom！ sunlight！ to my father！ Then I thought of my father， and the sunny land of my birth， my life， and my love. Then I loosened the band， and let the bird fly away to its home—to a father. Since that hour I have ceased to dream； my sleep has been long and heavy， till in this very hour， harmony and fragrance awoke me， and set me free.”
the GREen band which fastened the wings of the bird to the mother's heart， where did it flutter now？ whither had it been wafted？ The stork only had seen it. The band was the green stalk， the cup of the flower the cradle in which lay the child， that now in blooming beauty had been folded to the mother's heart.
And while the two were resting in each other's arms， the old stork flew round and round them in narrowing circles， till at length he flew away swiftly to his nest， and fetched away the two suits of swan's feathers， which he had preserved there for many years. Then he returned to the mother and daughter， and threw the swan's plumage over them； the feathers immediately closed around them， and they rose up from the earth in the form of two white swans.
“And now we can converse with pleasure，” said the stork-papa； “we can understand one another， although the beaks of birds are so different in shape. It is very fortunate that you came to-night. To-morrow we should have been gone. The mother， myself and the little ones， we're about to fly to the south. Look at me now： I am an old friend from the Nile， and a mother's heart contains more than her beak. She always said that the princess would know how to help herself. I and the young ones carried the swan's feathers over here， and I am glad of it now， and how lucky it is that I am here still. When the day dawns we shall start with a GREat company of other storks. We'll fly first， and you can follow in our track， so that you cannot miss your way. I and the young ones will have an eye upon you.”
“And the lotus-flower which I was to take with me，” said the Egyptian princess， “is flying here by my side， clothed in swan's feathers. The flower of my heart will travel with me； and so the riddle is solved. Now for home！ now for home！”
But Helga said she could not leave the Danish land without once more seeing her foster-mother， the loving wife of the Viking. Each pleasing recollection， each kind word， every tear from the heart which her foster-mother had wept for her， rose in her mind， and at that moment she felt as if she loved this mother the best.
“Yes， we must go to the Viking's castle，” said the stork； “mother and the young ones are waiting for me there. How they will open their eyes and flap their wings！ My wife， you see， does not say much； she is short and abrupt in her manner； but she means well， for all that. I will flap my wings at once， that they may hear us coming.” Then stork-papa flapped his wings in first-rate style， and he and the swans flew away to the Viking's castle.
In the castle， every one was in a deep sleep. It had been late in the evening before the Viking's wife retired to rest. She was anxious about Helga， who， three days before， had vanished with the Christian priest. Helga must have helped him in his flight， for it was her horse that was missed from the stable； but by what power had all this been accomplished？ The Viking's wife thought of it with wonder， thought on the miracles which they said could be performed by those who believed in the Christian faith， and followed its teachings. These passing thoughts formed themselves into a vivid dream， and it seemed to her that she was still lying awake on her couch， while without darkness reigned. A storm arose； she heard the lake dashing and rolling from east and west， like the waves of the North Sea or the Cattegat. The monstrous snake which， it is said， surrounds the earth in the depths of the ocean， was trembling in spasmodic convulsions. The night of the fall of the gods was come， “Ragnorock，” as the heathens call the judgment-day， when everything shall pass away， even the high gods themselves. The war trumpet sounded； riding upon the rainbow， came the gods， clad in steel， to fight their last battle on the last battle-field. Before them flew the winged vampires， and the dead warriors closed up the train. The whole firmament was ablaze with the northern lights， and yet the darkness triumphed. It was a terrible hour. And， close to the terrified woman， Helga seemed to be seated on the floor， in the hideous form of a frog， yet trembling， and clinging to her foster-mother， who took her on her lap， and lovingly caressed her， hideous and frog-like as she was. The air was filled with the clashing of arms and the hissing of arrows， as if a storm of hail was descending upon the earth. It seemed to her the hour when earth and sky would burst asunder， and all things be swallowed up in Saturn's fiery lake； but she knew that a new heaven and a new earth would arise， and that corn-fields would wave where now the lake rolled over desolate sands， and the ineffable God reign. Then she saw rising from the region of the dead， Baldur the gentle， the loving， and as the Viking's wife gazed upon him， she recognized his countenance. It was the captive Christian priest. “White Christian！” she exclaimed aloud， and with the words， she pressed a kiss on the forehead of the hideous frog-child. Then the frog-skin fell off， and Helga stood before her in all her beauty， more lovely and gentle-looking， and with eyes beaming with love. She kissed the hands of her foster-mother， blessed her for all her fostering love and care during the days of her trial and misery， for the thoughts she had suggested and awoke in her heart， and for naming the Name which she now repeated. Then beautiful Helga rose as a mighty swan， and spread her wings with the rushing sound of troops of birds of passage flying through the air.
then the Viking's wife awoke， but she still heard the rushing sound without. She knew it was the time for the storks to depart， and that it must be their wings which she heard. She felt she should like to see them once more， and bid them farewell. She rose from her couch， stepped out on the threshold， and beheld， on the ridge of the roof， a party of storks ranged side by side. Troops of the birds were flying in circles over the castle and the highest trees； but just before her， as she stood on the threshold and close to the well where Helga had so often sat and alarmed her with her wildness， now stood two swans， gazing at her with intelligent eyes. Then she remembered her dream， which still appeared to her as a reality. She thought of Helga in the form of a swan. She thought of a Christian priest， and suddenly a wonderful joy arose in her heart. The swans flapped their wings and arched their necks as if to offer her a GREeting， and the Viking's wife spread out her arms towards them， as if she accepted it， and smiled through her tears. She was roused from deep thought by a rustling of wings and snapping of beaks； all the storks arose， and started on their journey towards the south.
“We will not wait for the swans，” said the mamma stork； “if they want to go with us， let them come now； we can't sit here till the plovers start. It is a fine thing after all to travel in families， not like the finches and the partridges. There the male and the female birds fly in separate flocks， which， to speak candidly， I consider very unbecoming.”
“What are those swans flapping their wings for？”
