Anne Lisbeth was a beautiful young woman, with a red and white complexion, glittering white teeth, and clear soft eyes; and her footstep was light in the dance, but her mind was lighter still. She had a little child, not at all pretty; so he was put out to be nursed by a laborer's wife, and his mother went to the count's castle to serve as nurse to the count's fair and delicate child, whom she loved dearly.
Her own boy grew up neglected in the laborer's hut, unloved and deemed ugly. He eventually went to sea as a cabin boy on a wretched vessel. One stormy autumn night, the boat struck a rock and sank. The skipper and the boy drowned, forgotten by all but the sea.
Years passed. Anne Lisbeth, now a respectable "Madame" in town, decided to visit the count's castle to see the young count, the child she had nursed. She traveled far, full of anticipation, but the young man, now tall and handsome, did not recognize her and was coldly dismissive. Heartbroken, she began her journey home.
On her way, she learned from the laborer's wife that her own son had drowned. Troubled, she took a shortcut along the desolate shore at night. Haunted by superstitions and a guilty conscience, she began to hallucinate. She saw visions of her drowned child as a spectre, crying, "A grave! Dig me a grave!" and "Hold fast! Carry me to consecrated ground!"
Driven to madness by remorse, she attempted to dig a grave for him on the shore with her bare hands, but failed. She fell ill, believing her child held half her soul captive in the sea, and that she must bury him properly to be whole again.
For a year, she was often found wandering the shore. Finally, she vanished and was discovered in the village church. She said her child's spirit had visited her, telling her that by holding him in her heart for a year and a day, she had finally given him a true burial. He returned her soul, and she found peace. As the sun set, Anne Lisbeth died, her troubles at an end.