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Updated: May 23, 2025
Dim as some moon-spirit against the brightness, this shape stole forward under the rough hedge that formed a bank and threw a shadow between meadow and stream. In repose the grey man, for a man it was, looked far less substantial than the stationary outlines of fences and trees; and when he moved it had needed a keen eye to see him at all.
His gaze at Momus was frank with boyish curiosity. His bright eyes plainly remarked on the oddity of the old servant's appearance. Having catalogued old Momus as worthy of further inspection, he looked then at Laodice. Under the lowering moon and the listless effort of coming day, her unmantled dress of silver tissue made of her a moon-spirit, banished out of her world of pallor and solitude.
With the last words the Moon-Spirit melted into the white light, leaving Erik with a feeling of the happiest expectation. Long before daybreak he was awake, and his first thought was of the wonderful ice-flowers. Would the Angel have kept her promise? What would he see awaiting him? As the rays of the sun shot over the fiord, he sprang out of bed and ran to the window.
"Oh, Vanda, dear Vanda! Show me how to help my mother; I ask nothing else!" cried Erik. He jumped from his bed, and threw himself at the feet of the shadowy Angel. "Do you see that window?" said the Moon-Spirit, pointing to the small panes that were now covered with a delicate tracery of glittering frost-work. "Of what do those patterns remind you?" "Of flowers!" cried Erik.
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