The castle miller had in fact left his granddaughter, Katharina Mangold, his sole heiress, and confirmed as her guardian the man previously selected as such by her deceased father. This guardian was Councillor RÖmer, who, at the reading of the will, shook his head and pondered deeply upon the inconsistencies that exist in the human soul. The old man who had wellnigh throttled him under the influence of a mad suspicion that he was robbing him of his gold, had, scarcely an hour before, appointed him his executor, with almost limitless authority. He had provided that in case the operation about to be performed resulted in death, all his real estate, with the exception of the castle mill, should be sold. With regard to this exception, he declared that the mill had made him a wealthy man, and that his granddaughter, even although she came to be as "proud and haughty" as her step-sisters, had no need to be ashamed of bringing it to her future husband. The baronial estate to which it belonged was to be divided, and each portion—forest-land, farm-land, farm-buildings, meadows, and kitchen-gardens—sold singly to the highest bidder. As for the villa, with its surrounding park, it was to be sold likewise, and Councillor RÖmer was to be allowed to purchase it, if he wished to do so, at the rate of five thousand thalers less than its taxable value. These five thousand thalers were his, not only as some indemnification for his trouble as guardian, but in token of the "esteem" of the testator for a man who had never been haughty "like the rest of them at the villa," but more like a kind and even devoted relative. The will further provided that the whole property should be invested in government securities and other solid stock, the choice of which should be left entirely to the guardian, as a prudent and careful man of business.

The young heiress had lived for the past six years away from home. Her dying father had left her in charge to a FrÄulein Lukas, who had been her governess always,—in fact, had supplied a mother's place to her. Herr Mangold saw plainly that his darling, who had held herself shyly aloof from the step-sisters so much her elders, must not be deprived of her governess's tender care, and had therefore provided that she should accompany FrÄulein Lukas to Dresden, whither the latter removed shortly after her employer's death, and upon her marriage with a physician to whom she had long been betrothed. In the young girl's letters thence to her guardian she had never expressed a wish to revisit her home, nor had it ever occurred to her grandfather, the castle miller, to recall her. He had acquiesced willingly in her removal to Dresden, because the sight of her constantly renewed his grief for his daughter, the only being whom he had ever really loved. Now, after his death, the girl's guardian requested her to return, for some time at least, arranging at the same time to be her escort himself from Dresden as soon as the weather should become warmer, towards the end of April, since—this fact, however, he naturally suppressed—the Frau President Urach had protested against her being accompanied by the former governess. His ward had acceded to everything, and, upon his asking her further whether she had any personal wish with regard to the disposal of her property, had begged that when the castle mill was rented, the huge corner room and the recess with which it communicated might be reserved for her, and that everything in them might be left exactly as it had been during her grandfather's lifetime. This was done.

It was March, and a young girl was walking from town upon the highway, here and there bordered by neat cottages. She turned into the broad road leading to the castle mill. The traces of the last snow-storm had not entirely disappeared, the water had not dried in the broad ruts left by the wheels of the mill-wagons or in the deep footprints of the passers-by; but the young girl's little feet were encased in stout leather boots, and her black silk dress was so well caught up that there was no trace of mud upon its edge. She looked no elf or fairy as she walked on with a sure, elastic step. No; she was rather like some fair Alpine maid, with veins and sinews full of vigorous health, nourished by the pure breath of the mountain air and the sweet fresh milk of mountain-fed cows. A close black velvet jacket, trimmed with fur, showed the full, graceful outlines of bust and waist, and upon her brown hair sat, a little to one side, a cap of marten-skin. Her features were far from classically regular: the aquiline nose was too short for the width and shape of the brow, the mouth too large, the dimpled chin too strongly marked, the eyebrows not sufficiently delicate; but all these defects were more than atoned for by the pure oval of the whole face and the incomparable freshness and beauty of its colouring.

She turned into the open door of the court-yard of the castle mill, scattering before her a number of chickens assembled upon the wagon-road to pick up some scattered grains of wheat. They flew hither and thither with a loud cackling, and a couple of watch-dogs, roused from their lazy doze by the noise, barked furiously. How bright and golden the warm spring sunshine looked, flooding the walls of the grand old pile of masonry heaped up in ancient times beneath the eye of its noble builder! The day before yesterday the last thick icicle had fallen clattering from the open jaws of the lion's head at the end of the gutter on the roof, above which the air was now quivering with heat from the sun-baked slate. The sap was swelling in the big brown chestnut-buds, making them glisten as if powdered with diamond-dust; a couple of pots containing some languishing plants had been put outside of the window of one of the miller's rooms, to enjoy the first breath of spring; and upon the well-worn wooden steps leading from this very room was seated a dusty miller, eating a huge piece of bread-and-cheese.

"Moor! Watch! good dogs!" the young girl called across the yard in a coaxing voice. The dogs leaped about madly, whining as they tugged at their chains.

"What do you want?" asked the miller, rising clumsily.

She laughed gently. "I want nothing, Franz, except to say 'good-day' to Susie and yourself."

In an instant bread, cheese, and knife were thrown down on the ground. The man was not tall,—shorter than the young girl,—and he looked up speechless into the blooming face, which he had seen last belonging to a sickly child not tall enough to reach to his broad shoulders. She used to be called the "miller's mouse," and, swift and agile as any mouse, would follow him about the mill and granary for hours at a time; now she was mistress here, and he, the former foreman, her tenant. "Queer enough," he said, shaking his head in loutish wonder; "the eyes and the dimples in the cheeks are the same, but what a size she is!" And he measured her with shy, incredulous glances. "Aha, she gets it all from her Sommer grandmother; she was just such a white-and-red creature, and—— Be quiet, you rogues!" he interrupted himself, shaking his fist at the barking dogs. "The fellows really know you, madame."

"Better than you do; the 'size' has not led them astray," she replied, going over to the dogs and caressing them as they leaped up upon her. "You give me a wonderful title, Franz; I have not been promoted in Dresden, I assure you."

"But the FrÄuleins over in the villa are always called so," he said, doggedly.

"Indeed!"

"And you are worth ten of them. So young and rich,—so immensely rich! There's the mill,—the finest far or near. Zounds! 'tis a prize indeed. Good gracious!—only a girl, hardly eighteen years old, and the owner of such a mill!"

She laughed. "Yes, it is mine; and a dreary life I shall lead you, old Franz. But where is Susie?"

"Keeping her room; 'tis in her right side again, poor old thing! Her own doctoring did no good, and Doctor Bruck is there now."

The girl gave him her hand and went into the house. The heavy oaken door swung to behind her with a jar that resounded from all four walls of the large hall. Beneath her feet the floor trembled and shook with the dull sound of the machinery that was heard through a low, open door in a stone-vaulted archway, and the odour of freshly-ground grain filled the air. The young girl breathed it in eagerly; a flood of memories overcame her; she grew pale with emotion, and stood still for a moment with folded hands. Yes, she had indeed loved to make herself "at home" in the mill, as the Frau President had said, and her father had often brushed the flour from her dress and braids and laughingly called her his "little white miller's mouse." Thu stern old man, her grandfather, whom she could best remember shouting down his orders, in a harsh, authoritative voice, from the first landing of the stairs, had never loved her; she had almost always fled from his cross looks either to Susie's bright kitchen or to Franz; and yet she now thought of him with deep regret, and wished he were just descending the stairs that had creaked beneath his heavy tread; perhaps she should no longer have feared his face, repulsive, as she now knew, with the insolence of wealth; perhaps he would have been gentler and kinder, now that she had grown like her grandmother.

She found the door of the corner room up-stairs locked, but along the narrow passage connecting the back building with the main part of the mill she heard Susie's wailing voice. Ah, yes, there was the poor old servant's sleeping-room,—a dark little chamber, with round, leaded panes of glass in the windows, through which were seen the gray thatched roof of a wood-shed, and the pavement, always damp, of the side-yard. She shook her head impatiently, and walked along the passage.

As she entered the sick-room, the close, heated atmosphere of which was filled with smoke, she saw in the dim light that penetrated the old green glass of the window a man standing with his back towards her. He was very tall, much taller than she, and broad-shouldered in proportion. He was apparently about to depart, for he had hat and cane in hand. Ah, this, then, was Doctor Bruck, of whom her brother-in-law Moritz had told her when he informed her of the betrothal of her beautiful sister Flora,—how, as a student, the young doctor had secretly loved the much-admired and fÊted belle, but had not dared to aspire then to the hand that was at length his own; this, then, was he. She had almost forgotten the engagement, and had never during her journey thither remembered that she should see this new member of the family.

The opening door had swung noiselessly upon its hinges, but perhaps the girl's silk dress rustled, or the stream of fresh air that she brought with her, and that seemed laden with the breath of violets, startled the young physician; he turned hastily.

"Doctor Bruck? I am Kitty Mangold," she said, briefly introducing herself; and, passing him quickly, she held out both hands to Susie, who sat propped up with pillows in an arm-chair.

The old woman stared at her with bewildered eyes.

"I seem fallen from the skies, do I not, Susie dear? But just at the right time, I perceive," she said, stroking back the old woman's dishevelled gray locks beneath her night-cap. "How comes it that I find you here in this wretched little back room? The stove smokes, and does not give out heat enough to dry these damp old walls. Did they not tell you that you were to take possession of the corner room and sleep in the recess?"

"Yes, yes, the Herr Councillor told me all that; but it seemed such a crazy thing for me to be stuck up all alone in the best corner room, like a lady, or like your blessed grandmother herself."

The young girl suppressed a smile. "But, Susie, you always sat there in grandpapa's time, did you not? Your spinning-wheel stood by the window; I am sure I have often enough put it out of order for you; and your work-basket had its place on the table. Will you not allow a change of apartment, Herr Doctor?" she said, turning to the physician.

"I not only allow it, I have urgently advised it, but have been met by the patient's most determined opposition," he replied, with a shrug. His voice was gentle but sonorous, and just now tinged with the pitying tone one so readily adopts in the presence of suffering.

"Well, then, we will not lose a moment," said Kitty, as she laid her fur cap upon Susie's bed and drew off her gloves.

"Nothing in the world shall induce me to go there," the housekeeper protested. "FrÄulein Kitty, don't ask it!" she entreated, peevishly. "That room is the very apple of my eye; I have been cleaning it and rubbing it up every day since the Herr Councillor told me you were coming. I had fresh curtains put up there only the day before yesterday."

"Very well; stay here, then. I meant to take tea every afternoon at the mill, as I used to do in my childhood. But, since you are so obstinate, I will not come at all, depend upon it. I shall only be four weeks here in M——, and then you can show your 'cleaned and rubbed-up' room to any one whom you choose."

The effect was instantaneous. The grave decision in the young girl's face and bearing showed that she was not dealing for the first time with a querulous and obstinate invalid.

With a deep sigh Susie drew out the key of the room from beneath her pillow and handed it to her young mistress, who was hastily pulling off her velvet jacket. "Of course the corner room is not heated," she said, taking up a basket of wood by the stove.

"No, 'tis impossible you should do that," said Doctor Bruck, with a glance at her rich dress. He laid hat and cane on the table.

"I should be very much ashamed if I could not," she replied, gravely, but with a blush, as she noticed his glance.

She went out, and in a few moments a fine fire was crackling in the stove of the corner room, where Doctor Bruck opened the windows, that the fresh warm breath of March might replace the odour of soap and water.

Kitty entered. "I beg you to observe, Herr Doctor," she said, "that I am still fit to be seen," displaying as she spoke, not without some scorn in the gesture, her small, rosy hands, their wrists encircled by snowy linen cuffs.

An expressive smile lit up his grave face; he said nothing, however, but turned away to close again the southern window, through which a strong draught came so freshly that it fluttered the brown curls upon the girl's forehead. The curtain, too, blew into the room; Kitty seized it with a skilful hand and tried to replace each stiff fold as it was before.

"Poor dear Susie! if she only knew how I detest these curtains!" she said, half laughing, half provoked. "They must stay now whether I like them or not, for she must have coaxed them out of my guardian entirely for me. Figured muslin curtains before such arched windows in the finest mediÆval room that can be imagined! I meant to arrange and furnish it just as it might have been three centuries ago, with round, leaded panes of glass, and broad, oaken, cushioned window-seats; and there, upon the huge door leading out upon the stairs, I meant to have large antique brass bolts and hinges. Grandpapa must have had the old ones taken off; the marks are still there to show where they were. And then, with old Susie sitting by the window at her spinning-wheel!—I had imagined it all so pretty and cosy,—and now I shall have to give up the whole thing."

"But I can't see—— Are you not mistress here?"

"Oh, I shall never be able to do anything in such a case; I know myself too well," she replied, almost dejectedly. "In such matters I am a terrible coward." The contrast between this frank confession and the young girl's commanding exterior was so great that there needed indeed a keen glance into her hazel eyes to convince one that she spoke only the simple truth. These eyes were not very large, but well shaped and clear; their calm gaze was in thorough harmony with her independent, self-assured bearing. How quietly and practically she arranged everything for the coming of the invalid! A bed was made up on the sofa; the castle miller's huge leather-cushioned arm-chair was drawn out of the window-niche and placed so as to shelter the patient from every draught. She brought a little table from the recess, and placed the well-scoured footstool before the high sofa, and all was done as regularly and easily as if she had never been away from the mill. She was so absorbed in the occupation of the moment that she seemed to have quite forgotten the presence of the man standing by the southern window. Only when she opened the table-drawer and took out a white cloth with a woven red border, to spread it upon the little table in front of the arm-chair, did she turn to him and say, "There is something delightful in this old bourgeois order; nothing is ever out of place. Here it all was before I was born, and in all these six years that I have been away nothing has been changed. I am at home at once." She pointed to the mirror above the table. "There, behind the frame, I see the corner of the almanac, where grandpapa kept his accounts, and over the top is still sticking the rod, with its faded ribbon, once my mother's terror."

"And yours too?"

"No; grandpapa never paid me, poor little thing, enough attention to care about my improvement." She spoke entirely without bitterness, rather with a kind of smiling resignation. She went on to remove every particle of dust that had accumulated during Susie's illness upon tables and chairs, and closed the other windows. "There must be some flowers upon these stone window-ledges; their fragrance will refresh my poor Susie. I shall beg brother Moritz for some hyacinths and pots of violets from his conservatory——"

"You will have to apply to Frau President Urach; she has absolute and sole control of the conservatory; it belongs to her apartments."

The young girl opened her eyes. "Is etiquette so strictly observed at the villa now? During papa's lifetime the conservatory was the common property of the family." She shrugged her shoulders. "True, my father's distinguished mother-in-law was, at that time, only an occasional guest at the villa." Her melodious voice sharpened slightly in tone as she spoke these last words, but she tossed her head as she finished, as if she could thus shake off a momentarily disagreeable sensation, and added, with a smile, "'Tis all the better that I came first to the mill to acclimatize myself."

He left the window and approached her. "But will they not be vexed over there that you did not immediately upon your arrival place yourself under the protection of the family?" he asked, seriously, as one who would like to hint a gentle word of advice without presuming.

"They have no right to be so," she hastily and eagerly replied, with a blush. "Those 'over there,' 'the family,' as you call them, are alike strangers to me; I cannot beforehand feel as if I belonged to them, not even to my sisters. We do not know one another; there has not been even the slight tie of an interchange of letters between us,—I have corresponded only with Moritz. While papa lived, Henriette resided with her grandmother; we saw each other but seldom, and then always in the presence of the Frau President. My sister, Moritz RÖmer's wife, lived in town, and died long ago. And Flora? She was very beautiful and charming,—a belle who was at the head of papa's household while I was a child. Flora must have been wonderfully gifted, one always felt so timid and awe-stricken in her presence. I never ventured to talk to her, or even to touch her beautiful hands, and to-day I feel it would be very presuming for me to adopt towards her the familiar tone customary between sisters."

She paused and looked to him for a rejoinder, but he was gazing away far over the distant prospect, and said no word by way of encouragement. Had he not served for the lovely girl as Jacob served for Rachel? Possibly he did not even like to think that love for a sister could find lodgment in the heart that was at last his own. In spite of the gentleness and courtesy which were his by virtue of his profession, he looked as if he could vindicate his rights with great decision and gravity.

"As matters stand, the villa is no longer my home; I can visit it only as a guest, upon the same footing with other guests," she began again, after a moment's pause. "Here in the mill I am on my native soil, the air of home about me, and the sensation of home in my heart; and Franz and Susie will as faithfully protect my minority as can be done at the villa, with all its strict etiquette." A rebellious smile hovered upon her lips. "Moreover, they will forgive this breach of decorum sooner than you think, Herr Doctor; nothing better could be expected of the 'miller's mouse.'"

The pet name her father had given her was certainly most inapplicable now; any name that suggested a timorous flitting and gliding hither and thither into holes and corners scarcely befitted this girl, so calmly presenting to the world the spotless shield of her fair brow, and with all the supple vigour of her healthy youth, bearing herself with a kind of calm dignity.

Gradually a comfortable warmth was diffused by the stove. Kitty took from her pocket a tiny flask, and, pouring a few drops of cologne upon the heated iron, the air was filled with a purifying fragrance. "Susie will feel very grand and fine when she comes in here now," she said, gaily, looking about her once more to see that all was as it should be. Everything was in order, except that the recess door was ajar, and through it could be seen the gay carnations upon the head of the bedstead near the window. For the first time the girl's eye fell upon the well-known, clumsily-painted flowers that had once been the delight of her childish soul; the bloom left her cheeks, even her red lips grew pale.

"Grandpapa died there?" she whispered, agitated.

Doctor Bruck shook his head and pointed towards the southern window of the room.

"Were you with him?" she asked, quickly, coming closer to his side.

"Yes."

"He died so suddenly, and Moritz gave me such an unsatisfactory account of his death, that I do not even know what caused it."

The doctor was standing so that only his profile was towards her; he wore a heavy moustache and beard, and yet she could see his lips close tightly, as if it were difficult for them to frame a reply. After a moment's pause, he slowly turned and looked her full in the face. "They will tell you that he died in consequence of my want of skill in surgery," he said, in a voice which emotion made almost husky.

The young girl started back in horror; the glance which had been fixed upon the lips of the speaker sought the ground.

"Solely and simply for your own satisfaction," he continued, with gentle gravity, "I should like to assure you that such an assertion is utterly untrue; but how can I expect that you should believe me? We have never met before to-day, and know nothing of each other."

She might have easily extricated herself from her present embarrassment with some superficial commonplace, but it never occurred to her to do so. He was right; how could she know if he were really blameless and public opinion in the wrong? True, his whole bearing was stamped with simple frankness and integrity. She could not but feel that it was not his nature to deign one word in self-justification in the face of unjust suspicion; nay, that even the assurance he had just given her was a condescension on his part. And yet she would not say what she could give no real reason for believing.

He evidently expected no answer, for he turned away, but with so much dignity and proud composure that Kitty had a sudden sense of shame, and the blood rushed to her cheeks. "May I bring Susie in here now?" she asked, in an uncertain voice.

He assented, and she hastily left the room. In Susie's little bedroom she wiped away the tears that had gathered in her eyes, and learned from the old housekeeper the manner of her grandfather's death.

"It has done the doctor no end of harm in town," the old woman concluded. "He used to be thought the best there, and had more to do than he could get through with; now they all say he doesn't understand his business. That's the way of the world, FrÄulein Kitty. And he was not to blame for the misfortune. Everything went well; I saw it with my own eyes. But the castle miller was to keep perfectly quiet. He keep quiet, indeed! I know better than any one how the smallest trifle would make him turn red as a turkey-cock. Why, if Franz only spoke too loud, or a wagon drove too quickly into the yard, he would fall into a rage. I have borne enough in his service, and not a penny did he leave me for my pains,"—she laughed, a short, angry laugh;—"if you had not cared for me I should be begging my bread now."

Kitty raised her forefinger gravely, to impose silence upon the peevish old woman.

"Just as you please; I will be quiet," she said, as she sat like a helpless child while her young mistress wrapped her up in shawls and coverlets. "I am only sorry that such a good gentleman as the doctor should be so abused, and the very bread taken out of his mouth; and it is too bad for his poor old aunt, for whom he works so hard. She gave him his education out of her scanty means,—the old Frau Dean. She lives with him: he was always her pride; and for her to live to see this——"

Kitty put a stop to this talk, which threatened to become very discursive, by carefully helping the old woman to rise from her arm-chair. She was too much estranged from her former home, her thoughts and hopes were too much concentrated in Dresden, to admit of much interest at present in the private affairs of Flora's lover. She certainly pitied the physician, whose failure to cure had so suddenly imperilled position, and even means of subsistence; but grief for her grandfather, who must have suffered much, far outweighed that compassion.

Supported upon the young girl's strong arm, old Susie hobbled along the passage. The door of the corner room was open, and at the foot of the stairs leading down to it stood Doctor Bruck, with arms extended, to receive and assist the sufferer. It was a characteristic group that met his eyes. Kitty had put around her neck the invalid's sound arm, holding the brown, bony hand firmly clasped in her own upon her left shoulder, while her right arm was around Susie's waist. The girl looked the embodiment of self-sacrificing compassion, as, bending over the crippled old creature, she laid her glowing young face upon the gray head, above the wrinkled brow.

In a few moments Susie was comfortably seated in the airy apartment. She anxiously examined the famous curtains, was much shocked at the bed upon the "beautiful sofa," and tried in vain to conceal her pleasure at being once more able to count every sack of grain that was brought to the mill or carried thence.

The girl looked at her watch. "It is time I should present myself at the villa, if I would not run the risk of intruding upon the Frau President's distinguished tea-table," she said, with a feigned shudder, taking her gloves from her pocket. "In an hour I will come back and make you some broth, Susie——"

"With those hands?"

"With these hands, of course. Do you suppose I sit with them in my lap in Dresden? Why, you knew my Lukas, Susie,—she is just what she used to be, always astir, not a moment lost. You ought to see her. Such another doctor's wife it would be hard to find." And she left the apartment to get jacket and cap from Susie's room.