“I heard him as he thus spoke; he was looking at a spider's web， and he continued，'Thou cunning little weaver， thou dost teach me perseverance. Let any one tear thy web，and thou wilt begin again and repair it. Let it be entirely destroyed， thou wilt resolutely beginto make another till it is completed. So ought we to do， if we wish to succeed at last.'
“It was the morning of Easter-day. The bells sounded from the neighboring church， andthe sun seemed to rejoice in the sky. The master of the castle had watched through thenight， in feverish excitement， and had been melting and cooling， distilling and mixing. Iheard him sighing like a soul in despair; I heard him praying， and I noticed how he held hisbreath. The lamp burnt out， but he did not observe it. I blew up the fire in the coals on thehearth， and it threw a red glow on his ghastly white face， lighting it up with a glare， whilehis sunken eyes looked out wildly from their cavernous depths， and appeared to grow largerand more prominent， as if they would burst from their sockets. 'Look at the alchymic glass，'he cried; 'something glows in the crucible， pure and heavy.' He lifted it with a tremblinghand， and exclaimed in a voice of agitation， 'Gold! gold!' He was quite giddy， I could haveblown him down，” said the Wind; “but I only fanned the glowing coals， and accompaniedhim through the door to the room where his daughter sat shivering. His coat was powderedwith ashes， and there were ashes in his beard and in his tangled hair. He stood erect， andheld high in the air the brittle glass that contained his costly treasure. 'Found! found!Gold! gold!' he shouted， again holding the glass aloft， that it might FLASH in thesunshine; but his hand trembled， and the alchymic glass fell from it， clattering to theground， and brake in a thousand pieces. The last bubble of his happiness had burst， with awhiz and a whir， and I rushed away from the gold-maker's house.
“Late in the autumn， when the days wereshort， and the mist sprinkled cold drops on theberries and the leafless branches， I came back infresh spirits， rushed through the air， swept thesky clear， and snapped off the dry twigs， which iscertainly no GREat labor to do， yet it must be done.There was another kind of sweeping taking place atWaldemar Daa's， in the castle of Borreby. Hisenemy， Owe Ramel， of Basnas， was there， withthe mortgage of the house and everything itcontained， in his pocket. I rattled the brokenwindows， beat against the old rotten doors， and whistled through cracks and crevices， sothat Mr. Owe Ramel did not much like to remain there. Ida and Anna Dorothea wept bitterly，Joanna stood， pale and proud， biting her lips till the blood came; but what could that avail?Owe Ramel offered Waldemar Daa permission to remain in the house till the end of his life. Noone thanked him for the offer， and I saw the ruined old gentleman lift his head， and throw itback more proudly than ever. Then I rushed against the house and the old lime-trees with suchforce， that one of the thickest branches， a decayed one， was broken off， and the branchfell at the entrance， and remained there. It might have been used as a broom， if any one hadwanted to sweep the place out， and a grand sweeping-out there really was; I thought itwould be so. It was hard for any one to preserve composure on such a day; but thesepeople had strong wills， as unbending as their hard fortune. There was nothing they could calltheir own， excepting the clothes they wore. Yes， there was one thing more， an alchymist'sglass， a new one， which had been lately bought， and filled with what could be gathered fromthe ground of the treasure which had promised so much but failed in keeping its promise.Waldemar Daa hid the glass in his bosom， and， taking his stick in his hand， the once richgentleman passed with his daughters out of the house of Borreby. I blew coldly upon hisflustered cheeks， I stroked his gray beard and his long white hair， and I sang as well as Iwas able， 'Whir-r-r， whir-r-r. Gone away! Gone away!' Ida walked on one side of the oldman， and Anna Dorothea on the other; Joanna turned round， as they left the entrance.Why? Fortune would not turn because she turned. She looked at the stone in the walls whichhad once formed part of the castle of Marck Stig， and perhaps she thought of his daughtersand of the old song，—
'the eldest and youngest， hand-in-hand，Went forth alone to a distant land'.
these were only two; here there were three， and their father with them also. They walkedalong the high-road， where once they had driven in their splendid carriage; they went forthwith their father as beggars. They wandered across an open field to a mud hut， which theyrented for a dollar and a half a year， a new home， with bare walls and empty cupboards.Crows and magpies fluttered about them， and cried， as if in contempt， 'Caw， caw， turnedout of our nest—caw， caw，' as they had done in the wood at Borreby， when the trees werefelled. Daa and his daughters could not help hearing it， so I blew about their ears to drown thenoise; what use was it that they should listen? So they went to live in the mud hut in theopen field， and I wandered away， over moor and meadow， through bare bushes andleafless forests， to the open sea， to the broad shores in other lands， 'Whir-r-r， whir-r-r!Away， away!' year after year.“
And what became of Waldemar Daa and his daughters? Listen; the Wind will tell us：
“the last I saw of them was the pale hyacinth， Anna Dorothea. She was old and bentthen; for fifty years had passed and she had outlived them all. She could relate the history.Yonder， on the heath， near the town of Wiborg， in Jutland， stood the fine new house ofthe canon. It was built of red brick， with projecting gables. It was inhabited， for the smokecurled up thickly from the chimneys. The canon's gentle lady and her beautiful daughters sat inthe bay-window， and looked over the hawthorn hedge of the garden towards the brownheath. What were they looking at? Their glances fell upon a stork's nest， which was builtupon an old tumbledown hut. The roof， as far as one existed at all， was covered with mossand lichen. The stork's nest covered the GREater part of it， and that alone was in a goodcondition; for it was kept in order by the stork himself. That is a house to be looked at， andnot to be touched，” said the Wind. “For the sake of the stork's nest it had been allowed toremain， although it is a blot on the landscape. They did not like to drive the stork away;therefore the old shed was left standing， and the poor woman who dwelt in it allowed to stay.She had the Egyptian bird to thank for that; or was it perchance her reward for having onceinterceded for the preservation of the nest of its black brother in the forest of Borreby? Atthat time she， the poor woman， was a young child， a white hyacinth in a rich garden. Sheremembered that time well; for it was Anna Dorothea.
“'O-h， o-h，' she sighed; for people can sigh like the moaning of the wind among thereeds and rushes. 'O-h， o-h，' she would say， 'no bell sounded at thy burial， WaldemarDaa. The poor school-boys did not even sing a psalm when the former lord of Borreby was laidin the earth to rest. O-h， everything has an end， even misery. Sister Ida became the wife ofa peasant; that was the hardest trial which befell our father， that the husband of his owndaughter should be a miserable serf， whom his owner could place for punishment on thewooden horse. I suppose he is under the ground now; and Ida—alas! alas! it is not endedyet; miserable that I am! Kind Heaven， grant me that I may die.'