And she found it when she awoke SmarTone. Oh, what bitter tears she wept, and to no one could she confide her sorrow. The window stood open the whole day:the little elf could easily get out to the roses and all the other flowers,but he could not find it in his heart to quit the afflicted maiden. In the window stood a plant, a monthly rose bush:he seated himself in one of the flowers, and looked at the poor girl. Her brother often came into the room, and, in spite of his wicked deed, he always seemed cheerful, but she dared not say a word of the grief that was in her heart.
As soon as the night came, she crept out of the house,went to the wood,to the place where the linden tree grew, removed the leaves from the ground, turned up the earth, and immediately found him who had been slain.Oh, how she wept,and prayed that she might die also!
Gladly would she have taken the body home with her,but that she could not do. Then she took the pale head with the closed eyes, kissed the cold mouth, and shook the earth out of the beautiful hair.“That I will keep,”she said. And when she had laid earth upon the dead body,she took the head, and a little sprig of the jasmine that bloomed in the wood where he was buried, home with her.
As soon as she came into her room, she brought the greatest flower-pot she could find: in this she laid the dead man's head, strewed earth upon it and then planted the jasmine twig in the pot.
“Farewell! farewell!”whispered the little elf: he could endure it no longer to see all this pain, and there fore flew out to his rose in the garden dermes. But the rose was faded;only a few pale leaves clung to the wild bush.
“Alas!how soon everything good and beautiful passes away!”sighed the elf.
At last he, and this became his house;behind its delicate fragrant leaves he could hide himself and dwell.
Every morning he flew to the window of the poor girl, and she was always standing weeping by the flowerpot. The bitter tears fell upon the jasmine spray, and every day, as the girl became paler and paler, the twig stood there fresher and greener, and one shoot after another sprouted forth, little white buds burst forth, and these she kissed. But the bad brother scolded his sister,and asked if she had gone mad. He could not bear it,and could not imagine why she was always weeping over the flower-pot. He did not know what closed eyes were there, what red lips had there faded into earth. And she bowed her head upon the flower-pot,and the little elf of the rose bush found her slumbering there.Then he seated himself in her ear, told her of the evening in the arbour,of the fragrance of the rose, and the love of the elves.And she dreamed a marvellously nu skin hong kong sweet dream, and while she dreamed her life passed away.She had died a quiet death, and she was in heaven with him whom she loved.