Slowly she descended the winding staircase, so narrow in the upper half of the tower that there would have been no room for anything more substantial by her side than the ghost of some ancestral dame. Poor ancestral dame! There was no place for her here now, even although the new-made nobleman above-stairs should desire that as an appendage to his greatness he should own a ghostly white lady to look after the fortunes of his house, could he but buy one by as heavy a drain upon his money-bags as his patent of nobility had already cost him! There upon the walls hung the armour of her knightly race,—the weapons with which the old giants had striven for honour and shame, for lands and blood. The heavier the dints upon the old breastplates, the more frequent the blood-stains upon them, the more precious would they have been held, the more caressing would have been the nightly touch of her ghostly fingers. Now they glittered without a stain upon the walls, and the weapons of the new inmate of the tower were his money-bags.

Yes, the strange foreign element that vibrated through all the social intercourse of the family at the villa, the money-fever, the spirit of speculation, had intruded here also in this mimicry of the old chivalric life. It infected the air, it glided up and down the stairs, and the mighty tankards on the sideboards in the hall were not more of a mockery in the soft hands whose only labour was to cut coupons than were the giant locks and bolts, but lately burnished afresh, upon the iron cellar-door that kept guard over the councillor's champagne, while money by thousands of thousands was locked up in the safe above, with its small decorated key-hole. The historic powder from the Thirty Years' War was still in the cellar,—tolerated there by the councillor, only, as Henriette averred, that the inquisitive visitor might have an opportunity of seeing the costly wines arranged beside it in well-ordered rows. It was this that made Kitty a stranger in the home of her childhood; this display, this estimate of effect, for which no outlay of money was too great; this feverish effort to proclaim to the world that the basis of everything here was of gold,—-all this was in direct contradiction to the spirit of the old Mangold firm, which had never thus asserted its undeniable wealth and credit. Nor during her father's lifetime had money as power intruded upon his home; strict as he was in all his business relations in his counting-room, not one word with regard to them ever escaped him in the home circle. And now! even the Frau President speculated. She had thrown her small property of a few thousands into the huge lottery,—that is, invested it in stock,—and it was strange to see her face, usually so calm and impassive, work nervously, and flush with colour to the temples, when the subject of conversation was the money-market.

Kitty left the tower and crossed the bridge. She leaned for a moment over the railing and looked down into the water, as if she half expected to see in its depths her old friends the dwarf fruit-trees and strawberry-vines,—but she saw only her own head, with its crown of thick brown braids. This girl, oddly enough, was the heiress of the family; she was reminded daily that as such she was distinguished and flattered, and she was repeatedly taught that she never should arrange these same brown braids herself, that a lady's maid was indispensably necessary; but she opposed an energetic will to the Frau President's admonitions; nothing should induce her to resign her head to the hands of an artiste, to sit solemn as some heathen idol for hours in her dressing-gown. Oh, yes, it was delightful indeed to be rich, but her wealth should not make a slave of her, should not fetter her warm, active, shapely hands.

She left behind her the pretty grounds around the ruin, and walked along the unfrequented path through the meadows upon the banks of the stream. Chilled by the melted snow from the mountains, that swelled it to a torrent, the little river rolled along, clay-coloured in hue; but the minnows showed here and there like flecks of molten silver, the soft, downy buds were thick upon the osiers, and beneath their protecting net-work the blue flowers of the hepatica were spreading everywhere,—it was easy to make a spring nosegay.

With a bunch of them in her hand, she sauntered on as far as the ancient wooden bridge. There was Susie's old bleaching-ground, the meadow, planted with fruit-trees. The councillor had spoken truly; the low picket fence that enclosed the garden was in perfect repair, and everything about the house, from the old tiled roof to the latticed arbour for the grapevines, was in thorough order. And it was really a charming old house, the despised "barracks." It was situated in a very retired spot on the banks of the river, and the leafy grove behind it, on the other side of the fence, gave it the character of a woodland cottage. Its exterior was not imposing, to be sure; it had only one row of windows, directly above which arose the roof with its gilded weather-cock and massive chimneys, one of which was actually smoking,—an incredible sight. It was long indeed since a fire had been kindled on that hearth or a lamp lighted within those walls. During the lifetime of the castle miller it had been used as a store-house for grain; the shutters had always been closed, and the door of entrance locked, except during harvest. At that time, little Kitty used to slip into what was called the fruit-room, an apartment adjoining the kitchen, with whitewashed walls and a large green stove, and fill her apron with rosy-cheeked apples and mellow pears. To-day, the shutters were wide open, and the young girl saw for the first time in her life the glitter of the panes of glass in the large windows. It was now Doctor Bruck's home.

Scarcely knowing why, she crossed the bridge and passed ground three sides of the house. Her heart beat slightly, for she really had no right to be seen here; but the soft turf smothered the sound of her footsteps, which indeed could never have been heard above the din of the rushing river and of the sparrows twittering upon the roof. Some of the windows were open; she could see, within, hanging baskets filled with green creeping plants and vines, and the bright glitter of burnished copper on the kitchen walls; the merry song of a bird, too, came through the window, mingling with the shrill chatter of the sparrows; but there was no sound of human life or occupation. She cautiously turned around the west corner to pass by the front of the house, and paused, startled.

In the large doorway that divided the front of the house into halves, and from which a broad flight of steps led down to the little lawn, stood a lady, slender, refined, almost virginal in appearance. A table standing beside her was piled with books and pictures, which she was engaged in dusting. She looked up in surprise at the shy intruder, and involuntarily dropped the picture in her hand,—it was Flora's photograph in an oval frame.

Impossible that this could be the dean's widow! After Flora's sneering description, Kitty had fancied her a little, bent, active housekeeper, her hands rough with hard work, grown gray amidst pots and pans, and liking nothing so much as baking pancakes; she could not reconcile the picture of her imagination with this lady, elderly to be sure, but with delicate, noble features, and gentle, earnest eyes, her still abundant fair hair covered with a kerchief of white lace.

Kitty grew more and more embarrassed, as, standing at the foot of the steps, she stammered out her excuses. "I used to play here as a child: I only came from Dresden a few days ago, and—— That is my sister," she added, hastily, pointing to the picture, and then breaking into a clear, merry laugh, and shaking her head at the extraordinary manner in which, in her confusion, she had introduced herself.

The lady laughed, too. She placed the picture upon the table, and, descending the steps, held out both hands to the young girl. "Then you are the doctor's youngest sister-in-law." A faint shadow crossed her face. "I did not know that there were visitors at Villa Baumgarten," she added, with the slightest tinge of irritation.

A shadow floated across Kitty's mind also at this moment. Was she, then, such a nonentity, such an entirely insignificant member of the Mangold family, that Doctor Bruck had not thought it worth while to mention having met her? She bit her lip, and silently followed the lady, who invited her into the house and opened a door in the large hall. Every movement of her slender figure was gentle and gracious.

"Here is my room,—my home for the rest of my life," she said, in a tone in which was plainly audible her satisfaction at having reached this harbour of refuge after years of weary wandering.

"Before my husband received the appointment of dean in the city, he had charge of a small country parish. Our means were not adequate, and all my economy in housekeeping was needed to maintain the dignity of his position; but it was the happiest time of my life. The dust and noise of the city were never good for my nerves; my longing for the quiet of woods and fields became almost morbid. I never spoke of it but the doctor privately made the purchase of this place with his savings, and showed it to me as my own a few hours afterwards." Her voice was husky with emotion as she spoke the last words. With what pride did she call her nephew "the doctor"! and as she spoke she smiled pleasantly. "Is it not a charming place,—quite a castle?" she asked. "See these folding-doors, and the graceful decoration of the ceilings. Those leather hangings, with their tarnished gold, must once have been very splendid; and out in the garden there are the remains of clipped yews and old statues of stone. The place was originally the dower-house, of one of the women of the Baumgarten family,—I learned that from an old chronicle. We have scrubbed and aired and warmed the rooms, but have altered nothing; we are not rich enough for that, and indeed there is no need of it."

Kitty was inspecting it all with silent satisfaction. The dark mahogany furniture suited the faded leather hangings admirably. Against the wall, not far from the large white glazed antique stove, stood a sofa covered with chintz, and above it hung the portrait of the late dean in his canonicals,—valuable, perhaps, as a likeness, but scarcely as a work of art. The plants at each of the high, broad windows decorated the room charmingly; there were various kinds of azaleas and palms, and magnificent india-rubber trees, just now tinged with gold by the sunshine that came broadly in through the net curtains. Gold-fish in a glass bowl, and a canary in a cage,—those favourites with lonely women,—were here also; and spring flowers, gay hyacinths, with here and there a white narcissus bending its fair head dreamily, were upon the window-sills, while the work-table was fairly embowered in laurel.

"They are of my own growing: almost from the seed," the old lady said, as she noticed the girl's admiring gaze. "Of course I put the finest in the doctor's room." She opened the door of the adjoining apartment and invited Kitty to enter.

"Of course!" There was a charm in her way of speaking these words, as if they sprang from a maternal devotion which must excuse any over-indulgence. "Of course" she had given him the pleasantest room in the house,—the corner room,—below the eastern windows of which the stream rippled past. On the other side of the water lay one of the finest parts of the park, and in the distance, behind the lindens, the blue tiles of the roof of the villa could be seen. Between these windows stood the writing-table, so that when the doctor raised his eyes from his work he could see the flag-staff of the villa pointing towards heaven,—-towards heaven! Kitty suddenly felt her cheeks flush with shame as she thought how the tenderest care was watching over the man's comfort here, while there her faithless sister was employed day and night in devising some way to thrust him from his heaven. She had resigned all claim upon him with those frivolous words, "Make him happy yourself."

Did the warm-hearted, delicate-minded woman standing beside her dream, or perhaps instinctively feel, that the heaviest sorrow he could have to endure was hanging over her darling's future? She had received Kitty not as a new-comer, a stranger to the family relations, but as Bruck's youngest sister-in-law, who must of necessity be so well aware of everything connected with him that there was no need of any mention that she was his aunt. Surely she could not have known much of the inmates of Villa Baumgarten; and she confirmed Kitty's suspicion on this head by pointing to the wall over the writing-table, and saying, "All is not quite ready here; there I shall hang the photographs of his Flora, and of his mother, my dear sister."

Nothing else was wanting in the cosy room. The doctor, who was to return by the evening train, had no suspicion that his aunt had left the city. She had wished to spare him all the annoyance of moving; and the councillor had been so kind, she said, as to come to her assistance, by putting her in immediate possession of the house.

As she talked, the dean's widow went on putting a finishing touch here and there, gliding about with a step so noiseless that it could not have disturbed the doctor if he had been seated at his writing-table, deep in his new work, for the completion of which he had desired this retirement in the country.

She now opened a cupboard in the wall beside the bookshelves, and took thence a plate filled with delicate little cakes. These she offered to the young girl with a charming air of hospitality. "They are fresh; I made them to-day, busy as I was. The doctor always has a supply for his little patients, who often need a bribe. But I cannot offer you any wine, for the few bottles that we own I left in town, where they are required for the sick."

Kitty thought of the papers in her safe, "working day and night" to fill it with gold, of the well-furnished wine-cellar in the tower, and of her wayward, cigarette-smoking sister, buried amid the crimson cushions of the lounge. What a contrast it was to this simple content and self-denial! And how all this reminded her of her Dresden home! Her heart warmed to the dean's widow, and she told her of her dear foster-mother, of her wise and gentle ways of influencing those around her, and of her never-failing industry,—an industry to which she had trained her foster-child.

"But what does the Frau President say to such a system of education?" the aunt asked, with a smile, as her eyes dwelt with pleasure upon the blooming young creature.

"I do not know," Kitty replied, with a shrug and a saucy glance; "but I suppose my movements are too quick for her, my voice too loud, and I am too robust,—not sufficiently pale. Heaven knows, I am a trial indeed! Is that your sister's portrait?" she suddenly broke off to ask, pointing to an oil sketch of a very pretty woman, leaning in its frame against the wall.

The old lady assented. "I am sorry to have to leave it in so insecure a place," she said, "for the frame is old; but I suffer from vertigo, and dare not mount a step-ladder. A few weeks ago I was obliged to dismiss my servant,"—a faint flush tinged her withered cheek,—"and now I must wait until the charwoman comes to hang these last pictures, and the curtains to my bed."

At the first words of this explanation, Kitty had laid her parasol upon the writing-table and stuck her little bouquet of willow buds and hepatica into a pretty little milk-white vase that stood beside the inkstand. Then she pulled the table out into the room, and moved a chair up to the wall. "May I?" she asked, coaxingly, picking up the hammer and nails that were placed ready on the window-seat.

With a grateful smile the aunt brought her the portrait, and in a few moments it was hung upon the wall. Kitty shrank back involuntarily when the old lady then handed her Flora's photograph. Should she with her own hand place this picture where it would constantly meet the eyes of the betrayed lover? It was no longer his, it would in a few short days be reclaimed, with the ring which he still wore on his finger. How the thought pained her! The old lady passed her hand caressingly over the picture. "She is so lovely!" she said, tenderly. "I know her only slightly; she does not come often to see me; how could an old woman ask her to undertake so tiresome a task? but I am very fond of her, for she loves him, and will make him happy."

What an inconceivable absence of all misgiving! The girl's cheeks burned with a sense of her own imprudence. After all she had heard in the tower, she never should have set foot within these doors. She felt like a hypocrite for not snatching the picture from the old lady's hand and unmasking the serpent that was ready to dart at her heart. But she could say nothing. She hammered at the nail so vigorously that the wall shook, then she hung the photograph upon it, and pushed the writing-table into its former place. The seductive face of her sister looked down from the wall with the smile of a triumphant evil genius.

Kitty took up her parasol to leave the room as quickly as possible. As she crossed the threshold she saw through an open door the old lady's bed,—the step-ladder stood beside it. "I almost forgot that," she said, as if in excuse, as she entered the small apartment, and, taking the gay chintz curtains from where they lay ready, mounted the ladder. She stood so high in the dark recess beside the window that she could touch the projecting foot of one of the angels in the cornice, and began rapidly to slip the curtain-rings upon their brass rods, while the old lady, standing by the table in the middle of the adjoining sitting-room, mixed a glass of raspberry syrup for her kind assistant.

Suddenly Kitty saw a man of erect, stately carriage pass the window. She recognized him instantly, and started, but before she could determine whether it was best to stay where she was or to slip hastily down and away, he had come through the hall and entered his aunt's room. The old lady turned, and threw her arms around him with, "Ah, Leo, here you are already!" The raspberry syrup was entirely forgotten, as well as the kind assistant for whom it had been intended, and who was covered with confusion in her hiding-place behind the curtains, where she was now obliged to stay, if she would not break in upon the meeting of aunt and nephew.

She saw the doctor's handsome bearded face bend tenderly above the old lady's head as he drew her towards him and, taking her hand from his shoulder, kissed it reverentially Then he glanced through the rooms.

"Well, Leo, what do you say to my coming out here without your knowledge?" his aunt said, noticing his glance.

"I cannot praise that proceeding. It was too much for you to undertake in so short a time, for you know how injurious all household confusion and worry are for you. Nevertheless, you look well and happy."

"I wish you did too, Leo," his aunt interrupted him; "you have lost the fine colour you used to have, and here"—she lightly passed her hand over his forehead—"there is something strange, something of pain and perplexity. Have you been annoyed during your absence?"

"No, aunt." The tone was frank and reassuring, but evidently intended to stop further question; the councillor had said that Bruck never spoke of his profession or of incidents connected with it. "How attractive this room is to me, in spite of its shabby walls!" he said, as, with hands clasped behind him, he surveyed her writing-table. "It breathes of the peace of mind of a self-forgetting feminine nature; that is why I like so to come to our quiet home, aunt, with its old-fashioned furniture and your orderly arrangements. I shall be here a great deal."

The old lady laughed. "Yes, yes, until a certain day in June," she said, archly; "you are to be married at Whitsuntide."

"The second day of Whitsuntide." The words sounded strangely cold and decided, as if nothing should postpone for a moment the appointed hour. Kitty felt something like a shudder of dread. She held her breath; it would never do to be seen now. Every minute she hoped that the doctor would go into his room and give her the opportunity of slipping down from her perch and leaving without meeting him. Her whole nature revolted at this involuntary part of listener that she was playing. But, instead of going, he suddenly took up from the table a letter that had been slipped, apparently by chance, between two books.

His aunt made an involuntary gesture as if to prevent his reading it; her delicate face grew crimson. "Ah, heavens!" she exclaimed, "how forgetful my poor old head is growing! That letter came from town a few hours ago; it is from Lenz, the merchant, and I did not mean to let you have it to-day, but I forgot, and left it on my table. I think it contains your fee; and coming at such an unusual time, Leo,—I am afraid——"

The doctor opened the envelope, and hastily read the note. "Yes, he dismisses me," he said, calmly, tossing the letter and the paper money it contained down on the table again. "Does it worry you, aunt?"

"Me? Not for a moment, if I could be sure that you do not take the ingratitude of these foolish people too much to heart. I have firm faith in you, and in your skill, and in—your lucky star," the gentle voice replied, warmly and confidently. "The obstacles that chance and calumny place in your path do not mislead me,—you will succeed." She pointed towards the open door of the corner room. "Look at your little study; you can think and write there so comfortably, so secure from all interruption! Ah, I cannot help enjoying the thought of the time, short though it be, during which we can still be together and I can attend to your comfort——"

"Yes, aunt; but the retrenchments you have gradually been making lately in consequence of the unfortunate turn in my affairs must cease. I will not have you standing for hours upon the cold stone floor of a kitchen. You must send for our old cook to-day, if you can. There is no reason why you should not." He put his hand into his pocket, drew thence a heavy purse of gold, and poured out its contents upon the table.

The old lady clasped her hands in mute surprise at the golden stream rolling here and there upon her neat table cloth.

"It is a single fee, aunt," he said, with audible satisfaction; "our hard times are past." And, as he spoke, he turned and went into the corner room.

It was easy to see that his aunt longed to know more; but she asked no questions as to the cure or the patient whence came so large a sum of money.

Kitty seized this favourable moment to get down from the ladder. How her heart beat, how her cheeks burned, at having overheard this familiar talk! The door of the room led directly into the hall: she could escape unseen; even the dean's widow might suppose she had left the bedroom long since, without hearing a word that had been said. She cast a stealthy glance through the door of the corner room, where aunt and nephew were standing by the writing-table. Just then she heard the doctor say, "Ah, here are the first spring flowers! Did you know how fond I am of these little blue blossoms?"

He was interrupted by an exclamation of surprise: "It was not I, Leo. Kitty, your young sister-in-law, put those flowers there. Indeed, I am absent-minded and forgetful!" The old lady hurried into the next room; but Kitty had already slipped out of the hall door into the open air.

Without, she sauntered calmly and leisurely past the windows. Through the first she could faintly descry the gay flowers upon the still unhung bed-curtain; then came two windows with pretty net curtains, belonging to the aunt's sitting-room. One of them was open, and from it came the fragrance of hyacinth and narcissus. Suddenly a man's hand, strong and shapely, placed among the flower-pots on the window-sill a milk-white glass filled with blue flowers: it was her spring bouquet, which the doctor had thus removed from his writing-table.

She paused, startled by the thought that in her heedlessness she had placed herself in a false position. Evidently he regarded the placing of the flowers on his writing-table as an officious act on the part of a thoughtless, forward young girl. With her eyes shining with ill-suppressed tears of indignation, she extended her hand to the window. The gesture attracted the doctor's attention; he looked up.

"Will you be so kind as to hand me out my flowers, Doctor Bruck? they belong to me; I laid them down for a moment and forgot them," she said, with difficulty preserving her self-possession.

For one moment he seemed to be startled by the sound of the voice so unexpectedly addressing him. Perhaps he was annoyed that Kitty had observed him; but, if so, he instantly suppressed the sensation, and said, kindly, "I will bring you the flowers." His deep, quiet voice disarmed her immediately: he had not meant to wound her.

A moment afterwards he came down the steps. His figure, with its broad shoulders and erect carriage, and the fine bearded face, belonged of right, it seemed, to a soldier, and should have been clad in uniform, were it only the green coat of a forester, He handed the glass to the young girl, with a courteous inclination.

She took out the flowers. "They are the first little determined things that were in a great hurry to get out into the sharp April air," she said, with a smile. "They need to be searched for, but, when found, are worth a whole hot-house full of plants." He certainly could not suppose now that she had so far presumed upon their future relationship as to ornament his writing-table.

His aunt appeared at the open window, and begged the young girl to repeat her visit frequently.

"FrÄulein Kitty is going back to Dresden in a few weeks," the doctor answered instantly in Kitty's stead.

She was startled. Was he afraid lest she should enlighten the unsuspicious old lady as to his strange relations with his betrothed? The idea troubled her, but chiefly because of the sorrow which she saw he must lock up within his own breast. And she could not reassure him.

"I shall stay longer, Herr Doctor," she rejoined, gravely. "It may be that my stay in Moritz's house will be prolonged for months. You, as Henriette's physician, can best say how many may pass before I can leave my invalid sister without anxiety and return to my foster-parents."

"You propose to devote yourself to Henriette?"

"Of course," she replied. "It is a great pity that hitherto she has been left entirely to the care of strangers. The poor child passes nights of suffering entirely alone, rather than summon attendants whose sleepy, sullen faces irritate her diseased, sensitive nerves; and, besides, her pride rebels against any confession of dependence upon her inferiors. This must not be so any longer. I shall stay with her."

"You do not know the task you would undertake: Henriette is very ill,"—he passed his hands slowly over his forehead, so that his eyes were hidden for a moment,—"there will be many a long weary hour to live through."

"I know it," she said, softly. "But I have courage——"

"That I do not doubt," he interrupted her. "I have perfect faith in your patience as well as in your compassion; but no one can tell how long it may be before the invalid——will need no further care. And therefore I cannot advise your undertaking the case so positively; you could not endure the physical strain."

"I?" Involuntarily she held out her arms and looked down at them with a proud smile. "Do not your fears seem groundless even to yourself, Herr Doctor, when you look at me?" she asked, gaily. "I am strong and well: in constitution like my grandmother Sommer, who was a peasant's—a woodcutter's—child, running barefoot in the fields and wielding the axe better than her brothers,—Susie has often told me."

He looked from her towards the open window, where his aunt, half hidden behind her flowers, was lost in admiration of the young girl; his face grew dark.

"The question is not one of the force and endurance of muscles," he said, obviously to end all discussion. "Such duties as you propose to fulfil act most disastrously upon the nervous system. However," he suddenly interrupted himself, "it is not my part to influence your resolutions. That is your guardian's affair. Moritz must decide, and will probably see that you return to your home in Dresden at the appointed time." These last words were spoken with a hard emphasis not at all in accordance with the doctor's usual gentle composure.

His aunt involuntarily withdrew a step from the window; Kitty stood still. "But why are you so decided, Herr Doctor? Why do you desire that Moritz should control me so strictly?" she asked, with great gentleness. "Am I desirous of doing any thing wrong? Ought Moritz to use his authority to prevent me from fulfilling my sisterly duty? I think not. But there is a way out of the dilemma. Let Henriette go with me to Dresden. There my dear Frau Doctor will share with me the charge of her, and that will not harm my nerves." She smiled slightly.

"Well, I will try so to arrange it," he said, decidedly.

"Then I give you my word to be up and away as soon as possible," she rejoined, just as decidedly, with a meaning look, before which his glance fell as though he had been detected in some injustice.

His aunt suddenly leaned from the window and looked him wonderingly in the face,—he was so strangely silent. He stood plucking some withered vine-leaves from the trellis where they had lodged in falling from the vine, and did not open his lips.

"Do you so ardently desire to go?" the old lady asked the girl, kindly, but with some embarrassment.

Kitty drew her veil, which had fallen upon her neck, over her head again, and knotted it beneath her chin. Her face looked like a fresh peach-blossom amid the folds of lace. "Ought I to say 'no' for politeness' sake, madame?" she asked, smiling, in reply. "I think I have had the best of training, but nothing will eradicate certain prejudices and individualities from the hidden corners of my nature. I feel just the same repulsion for my sisters' grandmother to-day as when, years ago, my father used to command me to kiss her hand; hence I constantly come into collision with all kinds of irritating causes which do not exist for others, and which tormented and worried me as a child. And how chilly it has grown in my father's house!"—she shivered,—"there is too much marble beneath my feet; and Moritz has become so frightfully distinguished,"—two roguish dimples appeared in her cheeks,—"I am positively startled and mortified at the sight of my simple undecorated visiting-card. Yes, dear madame, I shall be very glad to return to Dresden, provided Henriette may accompany me; otherwise,"—she turned to the doctor, and the playfulness of her tone was changed to quiet resolution,—"otherwise, I shall do my best to conform myself to my present surroundings, and to remain, even although Moritz should attempt to force me to return to Dresden."

She bade a kindly farewell to the old lady, courtesied slightly to the doctor, and left the garden to go to the castle mill, although twilight was at hand.