The unearthly music was not only around her, it was within her. No words can express it.
"Now we must return; you will be missed," said the martyr.
"Only one glance more," she pleaded; "only one short moment more."
"We must return to earth; the guests are departing."
"Only one look—the last."
Little Helga stood once again on the veranda, but all the torches outside were extinguished and the lights in the banqueting hall were out, too; the storks were gone; no guests were to be seen; no bridegroom—all had vanished in those short three minutes.
A great dread seized upon Helga; she walked through the great empty hall into the next chamber where strange warriors were sleeping. She opened a side door which led into her own room, but she found herself in a garden, which had never been there before. Red gleams were in the sky, dawn was approaching. Only three minutes in Heaven, and a whole night on earth had passed away.
Then she saw the storks; she called to them in her own language. Father Stork turned his head, listened, and came up to her.
"You speak our language," he said. "What do you want? Why do you come here, you strange woman?"
"It is I, it is Helga; don't you know me? We were talking to each other in the veranda three minutes ago."
"That is a mistake," said the stork; "you must have dreamt it."
"No, no," she said; and she reminded him of the Viking's stronghold, and the Wild Bog, and their journey together.
Father Stork blinked his eyes and said, "Why, that is a very old story; I believe it happened in the time of my great-great-grandmother. Yes, there certainly was a princess in Egypt who came from the Danish land, but she disappeared on her wedding night many hundred years ago. You may
