It had grown quite dark; seven had struck by the factory clock, and Kitty was still sitting in the bow-window in the large room at the castle mill. At Susie's entreaty, she had inspected the linen-closet, for the old housekeeper insisted that the miller's wife was not to be trusted, and that "no one could keep their hands off beautiful homespun linen." Then she had, as usual, prepared Susie's evening broth, and put her to bed; for, although much better, she was still very weak and helpless. But the girl had been sitting a long while in the recess of the window, her hands gravely folded on her lap, until the shadows of night wrapped her around. It was pleasanter here than at the councillor's, where there was no cosy talk in the twilight hour as in Dresden. No sooner had the sun set than the servants invariably drew the curtains, the gas was lighted, and its dazzling rays banished the shadows from every corner.

The muffled tick of the old clock against the wall sounded like a measured subterranean knocking, and through the thick green curtain before the glass of the closed door of the recess the night-lamp at Susie's bedside glowed like the eye of some gloomy gnome. What a breathless quiet reigned in the darkness! How intently, when a child, she had listened in such an hour for the rustle and tripping tread of the dusty brownies while Susie told her how the cruel and superstitious lord who built the mill had buried a new-born babe in its foundations and had mixed the mortar for them with precious wine! All these recollections were but faintly present to her now: her eyes were fixed upon the southern window, whence a faint light was still visible in the sky,—upon the spot where the castle miller had breathed his last; and she was thinking of the way in which Dr. Bruck had told her of the verdict passed upon him by the public, and of his self-vindication, to which she now wondered more than ever that he had condescended. Why, even should the whole world insist upon it, she never could believe in a reckless disregard of prudence, an ignorant, unscientific over-estimate of himself, on the part of a man who was the personification of integrity and honour. And the hot blood stirred in her veins, and indignation possessed her, as she remembered the gross terms in which Flora this very afternoon had stigmatized Bruck's medical capacity. What a riddle Flora, admired and adored as she was, had become—once an object to the child Kitty of wondering awe and secret admiration!

Henriette, when alone with her young sister, was careful never to make the betrothed pair the subject of conversation; but from casual remarks of hers, Kitty had gathered that Flora must at first have shown a passionate affection for her lover.

Doctor Bruck, after serving as regimental surgeon during the Franco-Prussian War, and then remaining for some time in Berlin as assistant to a distinguished surgeon there, had returned to M——, principally in compliance with his aunt's entreaty. There the favourable reputation that had preceded him, and his fine person, had soon made him a popular physician as well as a great social favourite. It was therefore no condescension even on the part of the haughty Flora Mangold to yield him the coveted treasure of her hand. She had herself made decided advances to him in persisting in placing herself under the skilful young doctor's care for a painful sprained ankle; before the ankle had recovered they were betrothed, and the lady was much envied. This was, of course, why she wished to avoid any sudden breach of the engagement, and laid perfidious plans for inducing a gradual termination to it, founded upon mutual decline of affection.

Kitty started up; it was intolerable to her to think that if she remained she must be a witness of this distressing drama,—must see the unhappy man, in spite of his strong affection and efforts to the contrary, thrust forth from the paradise he had dreamed of. No; she sided with Moritz and Henriette. Flora could not and should not break her troth; the whole family must combine to prevent such wretched treachery. What folly so blinded her as thus to induce her to destroy her own happiness! Had she not seen him in his home with his loving foster-mother? Did she not know that the winds of heaven would never be allowed to visit her too roughly if she bestowed upon him the happiness he craved?

Kitty started and covered her face with her hands. It had grown so dark here, so black was the night, that it seemed a fitting time for sinful thoughts to creep into an unguarded soul. She ran across the room and threw wide the door upon the stairs; the large lamp was burning in the hall below, throwing slender rays upwards among the pillars of the gallery, even to her feet, while from the mill itself, the door of which opened at that moment, came the noise of loud voices. Light and sound instantly dissipated the alluring phantoms that were crowding into the young girl's mind. There was the huge whitewashed hall of the castle mill, and from its wall looked down in ghostly dimness out of the worm-eaten black frame the figure, in full armour, of its knightly builder. In former days the picture had terrified her; now it seemed to her an old friend, beckoning her back to reality from a treacherous dream in which she was playing a false part.

She descended the stairs, and left the mill. The night wind of spring refreshed her hot cheeks, and stars filled the clear sky with glittering arabesques. Kitty was ashamed of her idle dreaming; but had it not assailed her like a sudden vertigo which may suddenly attack even the healthiest and strongest of human kind?

From a distance she saw through the trees the glimmer of the lights at the villa; and as she entered the hall-door she was greeted by the sound of the piano. It was a magnificent instrument, but was being shamefully maltreated at present. This was one of the Frau President's reception evenings,—old and young came to take tea,—the elders went to the card-tables, and the young people amused themselves with music and conversation as best pleased them.

Kitty made a hasty toilette, and entered the drawing-room,—the large balconied apartment on the ground-floor. There were but few guests this evening; only one card-table was in demand, and the tea-table, usually surrounded by young ladies, looked lonely and deserted.

Henriette was seated at it, making the tea; again she had scarlet ribbons in her blonde hair, and a sleeveless jacket of the same brilliant colour over a light blue silk dress. Her small, pallid face looked ghostly in so theatric a costume, but her beautiful eyes shone with an almost unearthly fire. "Bruck has come!" she whispered, breathlessly, into Kitty's ear, pointing through the adjoining music-room, where the grand piano was being so punished, towards Flora's study. "Kitty, he really seems grown, so tall and majestic—— Good heavens! do not look 'so sober, steadfast, and demure'!" she hastily interrupted herself. She was strangely agitated. "They are all so cross to-day; Moritz has had a dispatch which has made him absent-minded, and grandmamma is dreadfully out of sorts because her rooms are so empty. But I am so happy,—so happy! Do you know, Kitty, that the day before yesterday, when I had that attack, I really imagined that Bruck would see me next as a corpse? That must not be. I will not die without him!"

It was the first time she had ever spoken to Kitty of dying; and it was well that the fingers scrambling hither and thither over the keys in the music-room seemed just now endowed with fresh energy, and that three elderly gentlemen, standing by the chimney-piece, raised their voices in the ardour of their discussion, for the invalid's last exclamation was loud and passionately uttered. Kitty gave her a warning glance, and the Frau President looked keenly and disapprovingly over her eye-glass towards the tea-table. Henriette instantly controlled herself. "Nonsense! how can any one object to my saying so?" she said, lightly shrugging her shoulders. "No one likes to die alone. One has a physician in order that his presence may inspire with hope even one's last breath."

Kitty understood now perfectly that the sick girl would never return with her to Dresden. She declined the cup of tea which Henriette filled for her with a trembling hand, and drew a small piece of embroidery from her pocket.

"Oh, let that miserable work alone!" said Henriette, impatiently. "Do you suppose I can sit here and watch you calmly stick in your needle and draw out that tiresome thread?" She arose and put her hand within her sister's arm. "Let us go into the music-room. Margaret Giese will shatter the instrument and our nerves at the same time if we do not put an end to this torment."

They went into the adjoining drawing-room, but the lady at the piano, lost in her own harmonies, remained undisturbed. The folding-doors leading into Flora's study were, as was usual when the reception was small, wide open, allowing a full view of the interior. Its subdued light made it seem almost gloomy in contrast with the other brilliantly lighted apartments, and the dark crimson of its hangings deepened to black in remote corners.

Flora was standing by the writing-table, her hands nervously clasped before her, while the councillor leaned back comfortably in an arm-chair, and Doctor Bruck stood looking through a new pamphlet. He was unusually pale; the light falling from the lamp above him brought out two dark wrinkles in his forehead and a deep shadow beneath his eyes, but his expressive head, nevertheless, looked very young in comparison with that of his future bride.

Henriette entered composedly; the lovers were not alone; but Kitty, whom she drew with her, paused upon the threshold, repelled by Flora's air, which was impatient, almost angry. She was evidently in an ill humour. She surveyed with a sarcastic glance her sister's dress, for Kitty had laid aside this evening, for the first time, her deep mourning, and wore light gray.

"Come in, Kitty," she exclaimed, without changing her attitude. "In stiff silk, I see, as usual, just like a paper angel, and enough to make the strongest of us nervous with the perpetual rustle. Tell me, for heaven's sake, why you always wear these frightfully heavy silks? Scarcely the thing, I should say, for your cooking cares in Dresden."

"Oh, 'tis a weakness of mine, Flora," Kitty answered, with a smile. "Childish enough, no doubt; but I like to hear an attendant rustle of silk,—it sounds majestic. In the midst of my 'cooking cares' I do not wear it, of course."

"Why, how proudly she admits the 'cooking cares'! You foolish child! I should like to see you in a linen apron among your pots and pans! Well, every one to his liking; I beg to be excused." Her large gray eyes slowly turned towards the doctor, who was just quietly closing his book.

Kitty felt Henriette's little hand clench as it lay within her arm. "Nonsense, Flora!" she said, in apparent amusement. "Five months ago you often paid a visit yourself to Christel's kitchen. Whether you were of any use there I cannot say; but the good intention, as well as your pretty muslin apron, became you admirably."

Flora bit her lip. "You make a good story of it, Henriette; you never were able to understand that jest or to take it for what it was,—a mere whim." She folded her arms, and, drooping her head as in thought, slowly walked towards the window. She looked very beautiful in her white cashmere dress, with its soft, sweeping train.

The councillor sprang from his arm-chair. "Come, Floss, will you not go into the drawing-room with me now?" he asked. "It is very empty, for a good reason,—the prince holds a diplomatic audience to-night," he added, by way of silencing his own discontent; "but we must do something to put a little life into it, or we shall have grandmamma out of sorts for a day or two."

"I excused myself to her for half an hour, Moritz," she said, impatiently. "I must finish the article I have on hand to-night. The manuscript would have been ready now if Bruck had not interrupted me."

The doctor approached her writing-table. "Is there such haste? And why?" he asked, not without a touch of merriment in his face and voice.

"Why, my friend? Because I wish to keep my word," she replied, tartly. "Ah, that amuses you! It is, to be sure, only a woman's work, and you cannot, of course, comprehend how there can be any hurry about such a trifle."

"These are assuredly not my views with regard to women's work in general."

"In general!" she repeated, with a hard laugh. "Oh, yes, the general world-wide idea,—cooking—sewing—knitting!" She counted them off upon her fingers.

"You did not let me finish, Flora," he said, quietly. "I had reference to mental as well as to physical labour. I am much interested in the woman question, and desire nothing more, in common with all thoughtful men, than that woman should be an intelligent assistant and co-worker with man in the department of the intellect."

"Assistant? How very kind! We want no such kindness, my friend; we want more: we would be the equal of man,—equal in our privileges as in all else."

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. The mingled expression of merry scorn and indulgent gentleness became his fine face wonderfully well. "This is indeed the extreme of these claims. It has been abandoned long since by the most intelligent, and will be warmly opposed by all friends of reform in church and state so long as woman shows herself liable to such excesses as we have witnessed in the 'praying bands' of some of the American cities, and in their unscrupulous adherence here in Europe to the dark host of monkish confessors. To do otherwise would be to place the murderous knife in a small and inconsiderate hand."

Flora grew very pale, but said not a word in reply. She took up a new steel pen with apparent indifference and fitted it into a holder. Then she drew a casket towards her, and, with a hand that trembled slightly, took from it a small object.

Henriette withdrew her hand from her sister's arm and made one step forward, while the councillor left the room hurriedly, as if to fulfil some suddenly-remembered duty. Kitty was troubled. She saw the trembling taper fingers take up a penknife and cut off the tip of the cigar which had just been selected from the box.

"Such a knife as this, not for us to use in this way," Flora said, with forced gaiety, over her shoulder to the doctor, who had paced the room once or twice while speaking. "Strangely enough, however, the feminine brain, although weighing four ounces less than that of the lord of creation, shares with it this peculiarity: it thinks more vividly and works more easily while smoking." She lighted the cigar and put it between her lips, smiling nervously.

The performer upon the piano in the next room had finished her fantasia, and now appeared upon the threshold. "What, Flora! smoking? Why, you never could endure the smell of a cigar!" she cried, laughingly, clapping her hands.

"FrÄulein Mangold is jesting," Doctor Bruck said, with perfect composure, as he walked to the writing-table, "and will be quite satisfied with trying it once only. Another attempt might cost her too dear."

"Do you forbid it, Bruck?" she asked, coldly, a baleful fire glowing in her eyes. She had taken the cigar from her mouth for a moment, and held it delicately between her fingers.

It was what the doctor had evidently expected. Without haste, with imperturbable equanimity, he took the cigar from her hand, and threw it into the fire. "Forbid it as your lover?" he asked, with a shrug. "My rights, as yet, do not extend so far. I might entreat you, but I dislike repetition and useless words; and you know perfectly how I detest a cigar in a woman's mouth. In this instance I forbid it simply as your physician. Your lungs are not strong enough."

Flora stood for an instant confounded by this cool assurance; and his last words evidently impressed her, but she controlled herself. "A terrible diagnosis indeed, Bruck," she said, with a scornful smile. "And the Councillor von BÄr, who has attended me from my infancy, never said a word of it. Tales to frighten children! Besides, I have no reason for so loving my life that I should deny myself an enjoyment to preserve it. On the contrary, I shall continue to smoke; in my intellectual vocation I need it, and this vocation is my delight, my moral support,—in it I live and breathe——"

"Until a certain inevitable crisis arrives to reveal to you your true vocation," the doctor interrupted her. His voice sounded hard as steel.

A burning blush crimsoned her cheek. She opened her lips for an angry reply, but her glance fell upon FrÄulein von Giese, the piano-player, the sarcastic maid of honour, who was still standing in the door-way, her head and shoulders bent forward, as if eager to catch every word of this interesting dispute, that from it and from the embarrassed faces of the bystanders she might extract material for a charming dish of court scandal. This was certainly to be avoided. Flora turned away with a graceful pout. "Nonsense, Bruck!" she exclaimed. "How prosaic! You have just returned from a pleasure-trip, and have been amusing yourself——"

She stopped. Bruck laid his hand on hers with a firm pressure. "Will you have the kindness to leave my vocation out of the question, Flora?" he asked, emphasizing his words strongly.

"I was speaking of pleasure," she said, pertly, withdrawing her hand from his.

The Frau President's face, with its expression of cold dignity, was never a welcome sight to Kitty, and when unexpectedly seen, inspired her usually with a kind of shy terror; but now it was a positive relief when the old lady suddenly entered the room. She came in with unusual haste, and evidently in ill humour. "I shall have to order my card-tables to be placed here in future, if I would not have my friends neglected," she said, in an irritated tone. "How came you to leave the tea-table so early, Henriette? I shall be obliged to place my maid there. And, Flora, I cannot understand your withdrawing to your study when we have guests. If your publisher is really so impatient that you must work in the evenings, pray close your door, if you would avoid the appearance of ostentation and a desire to be thought a blue-stocking!" She must have been much vexed, to speak thus in the presence of the maid of honour.

Flora placed her manuscript before her, and dipped her pen in the ink. "Decide upon that as you please, grandmamma," she said, coldly. "I cannot prevent people from coming to me here, and I should have sacrificed myself long ago, and been seated at one of your green-covered tables, if I had not been interrupted."

Henriette stepped past her grandmother, and privately signalled to Kitty to follow her. "These exciting scenes kill me," she whispered, as they entered the empty music-room.

"Be tranquil. Flora's struggles are vain; he will yet bring her to his feet," Kitty rejoined, in a strange, agitated tone. "But I cannot understand him. Were I such a man——" Her eyes flashed, and she held herself proudly erect.

"Do you know what it is to love, Kitty? Judge not! You, with your cool glance and blooming cheeks, have no conception of the mad intoxication which can take possession of a human soul." She paused, and drew a long and labouring breath. "You do not know how enchanting and seductive Flora can be if she chooses. You know her only in her present mood,—cowardly, egotistical, pitiless. Once see her display affection, and you will understand how a man must prefer death to surrendering his right to her."