when the rejoicings were at their height they returned. They were bridal festivities and little Helga was the bride clad in rich silk and many jewels. The bridegroom was the young prince from Arabia, and they sat together at the upper end of the table, between her mother and her grandfather.
But Helga was not looking at the bridegroom's handsome face round which his black beard curled, nor did she look into his fiery dark eyes which were fixed upon hers. She was gazing up at a brilliant twinkling star which was beaming in the heavens.
Just then there was a rustle of great wings in the air outside; the storks had come back. And the old couple, tired as they were and needing rest, flew straight down to the railing of the veranda; they knew nothing about the festivities. They had heard on the frontiers of the country that little Helga had had them painted on the wall, for they belonged to the story of her life.
"It was prettily done of her," said Father Stork.
"It is little enough," said Mother Stork; "they could hardly do less."
When Helga saw them she rose from the table and went out on to the veranda to stroke their wings. The old storks bowled their heads and the very youngest ones looked on and felt honoured. And Helga looked up at the shining star which seemed to grow brighter and purer; between herself and the star floated a form purer even than the air and therefore visible to her. It floated quite close to her and she saw that it was the martyred priest; he also had come to her great festival—come even from the heavenly kingdom.
"The glory and bliss yonder far outshines these earthly splendours," he said.
Little Helga prayed more earnestly and meekly than she had ever done before, that for one single moment she might gaze into the kingdom of Heaven. Then she felt herself lifted up above the earth in a stream of sweet sounds and thoughts.
