Borreby was laid in the cold earth! Oh, all shall come to an end, even
misery! Sister Idé became a peasant's wife. That was the hardest trial to her
poor father. His daughter's husband a lowly serf, who could be obliged by
his master to perform the meanest tasks! He, too, is now under the sod, and
thou art there with him, unhappy Idé! O yes-O yes! it was not all over, even
then; for I am left a poor, old, helpless creature. Blessed Christ! take me
hence!'
“Such was Anna Dorthea's prayer in the ruined castle, where she was
permitted to live-thanks to the storks.
“The boldest of the sisters I disposed of,” said the wind. “She dressed
herself in men's clothes, went on board a ship as a poor boy, and hired
herself as a sailor. She spoke very little, and looked very cross, but was
willing to work. She was a bad hand at climbing, however; so I blew her
overboard before any one had found out that she was a female; and I think
that was very well done on my part,” said the wind.
“It was one Easter morning, the anniversary of the very day on which
Waldemar Daae had fancied that he had found out the secret of making
gold, that I heard under the storks' nests, from amidst the crumbling walls, a
psalm tune-it was Anna Dorthea's last song.
“There was no window. There was only a hole in the wall. The sun came
like a mass of gold, and placed itself there. It shone in brightly. Her eyes
closed-her heart broke! They would have done so all the same, had the sun
not that morning blazed in upon her.
“The storks had provided a roof over her head until her death.
“I sang over her grave,” said the wind; “I had also sung over her father's
grave, for I knew where it was, and none else did.
“New times came-new generations. The old highway had disappeared in
inclosed fields. Even the tombs, that were fenced around, have been
converted into a new road; and the railway's steaming engine, with its lines
of carriages, dashes over the graves, which are as much forgotten as the
names of those who moulder into dust in them! Wheugh-wheugh!
