  More than a year had passed since the day in March when Kitty Mangold, grandchild and sole heir of the wealthy castle miller, had been walking upon the high-road from the town on her way to present herself at her guardian the councillor's in her new character of heiress. Those who now turned aside into the by-road leading to the mill found upon their right a row of pretty little cottages, that belonged to the workmen in the factory, and had been erected upon the waste portion of the mill-garden,—the strip of land that Kitty had begged of her guardian for the convenience of these men. And the townspeople liked much to walk in this direction. Formerly the high massive wall enclosing the mill-grounds had cast its shade so far that the footpath beneath it was almost always damp and had long been avoided. Now the wall had gone, and the pretty path was planted with acacias. The cottages looked neat and trim, with their air of Dutch cleanliness, the pretty porch in front of each, and the small gardens which had been planted the previous autumn with all kinds of flowering shrubs. Behind them loomed the castle mill, hoary with age, its windows looking in the opposite direction, as if angry that its ancient mantle of green had been thus bordered with gay embroidery. It had undergone no alteration, save that the shabby old dial had been brightened, and the little gate leading through the wall into the adjacent park had been walled up. There was no longer any connection between the mill and the former estate of the vanished Von Baumgartens from whom the old structure had derived its high-sounding title. But the deafening noise, the throbbing heart of the old pile went on with rejuvenated vigour, and the road to the mill-yard was more frequented than ever,—the masterless business was directed by a firm cool hand and a prudent head. Kitty's undertaking had been attended with success. She had found an experienced foreman, and poor Lenz, the merchant who had lost his all, was her assistant book-keeper. She set herself to work in the office she had fitted up in the mill, to learn the mysteries of business, and her thorough education and excellent capacity soon enabled her to acquire all that Lenz could teach. She did actually work like a man, "day by day;" the business increased, and produced such results as would have astonished the old castle miller himself. And the sight of the contented faces about her smoothed the rough path she had chosen to tread. She had taken charge of poor Franz's widow and orphans, giving them rooms for life in a small out-building of the mill, which she had fitted up for their occupation. The woman continued, as heretofore, to assist Susy in her housekeeping, while the children received such an education as their father, whose mind had been occupied entirely with material considerations, had never dreamed of giving them. It was true that of all the vast wealth left behind him by the castle miller nothing remained for Kitty but the mill and a few thousand thalers which she had induced her guardian to allow her to lend to the workmen to enable them to build their cottages upon the mill-land. Her hundreds of thousands had vanished in the flames, and the small amount of gold and silver recovered in a melted condition from beneath the ruins was far more likely to be the remains of tankards and platters than of coin. In the disastrous confusion that followed the explosion there were many creditors whose claims even the real estate and valuable collections were not sufficient to satisfy; the failure proved to be one of the worst and most hopeless that occurred in that time of ruin and uncertainty. Villa and park passed again into the hands of an old and noble family, and the new owner had the ruins of the ancient tower cleared away, the ditch filled up, and even the artificial mound levelled, that there might be nothing upon the aristocratic soil to bring to mind the miserable parvenu who had there met his wretched and disgraceful death. And the ancient wooden arched bridge leading across the stream to the house by the river was also destroyed. The doctor's house was now reached by a stone bridge, crossing the river near the factory, and a pretty footpath along the opposite shore. The house, which had been completely restored late in the autumn, was still unoccupied; the Frau Dean's old friend had passed the winter in the doctor's former town-house, and was to move out only with the return of fine spring weather. Kitty used to stroll hither almost every day. Although the autumn mists hung dank and chill, although snow-flakes filled the air, and the wind blew keen from the north, at the approach of twilight she would lay aside her pen, put on her wraps, and sally forth into the open air. Then for half an hour she would throw away all thought of the columns of figures, the dry business details in which she sought all day to bury her warm, longing heart. She was no longer the strict mistress, whose watchful eye never overlooked the smallest irregularity, who exacted a rigid performance of duty from herself as well as from her people, inducing it in the latter case by such a judicious mixture of praise and blame that no harsh word was ever needed from her lips. At this twilight hour she was only the young ardent girl, who, hard and stern as she might be to the passion that possessed her soul, still permitted herself some moments of dreaming melancholy, of unrestrained suffering. Then she would pass through the narrow, creaking wicket-gate leading out into the fields; the gate to which, after the attack in the forest, she, with Henriette in her arms, had bent her weary steps. As she reached the moss-grown fragment of a pedestal in the centre of the grassy lawn, beside which she had stood with Bruck, she would pass her hand lightly over it, as if in a caress, and then seek the spot where the pardon-table had stood, where the doctor, as she now knew, had so suffered for her sake. She walked around the lonely house, with its closed shutters, its new unblackened chimneys, and its creaking weather-cock, to mount the damp, slippery steps and listen at the house-door. Through the key-hole came the soft, low sigh caused by the draught of air sweeping through the wide hall, the withered vines about the doorway rustled, and now and then a belated sparrow would dart in beneath the eaves. This was the only sign of life stirring in the loneliness, but the girl looked for it eagerly; at least the silence was not that of the grave. The right to open this door belonged to beloved hands, and some day footsteps would resound within and dear faces look from the windows; this was sure, although Kitty, at the thought of it, told herself that then she should leave her home and wander afar, until—Bruck should conduct hither some bride to whose hand she might confide the ring. His career in L—— was a brilliant one. His reputation spread from day to day. Large and distinguished audiences attended his lectures, and several fortunate cures, of which the objects were individuals of high rank, were everywhere talked of. His aunt's letters to Kitty—she wrote frequently—breathed peace and content; they were a source of immense enjoyment to the young girl, but also of terrible mental conflict, for which reason she replied but seldom and briefly. The doctor himself never wrote,—he adhered strictly to his promise not to assail her with entreaties, and contented himself by sending some message of remembrance, which she kindly and punctually reciprocated. In this solitude her young life passed, day after day. She never dreamed that she was a subject of great interest in the town, that her bold assertion of her independence, her resolute and energetic assumption of authority at the head of her affairs, excited far more attention and respect than had ever been awarded to the heiress. The distinction thus falling to her lot was the cause of a series of visits to the castle mill, of which the first when paid was received with no little astonishment. The Frau President Urach when walking with her faithful maid no longer disdained to make the mill a resting-place, in order, "as her duty to her poor dear lost Mangold required, to look after his youngest child." The old lady had returned to the capital a few weeks after her departure from the villa. She occupied a couple of rooms very high up in a narrow little street, living in a pinched way, in accordance with her very small means, and half forgotten by the world. The councillor of medicine, Von BÄr, had purchased a country-seat, and grumbling turned his back upon the capital; for her he had vanished entirely, and of all her former acquaintance her only visitors were some few of the friends of her youth and the pensioned Colonel von Giese, who sometimes came to play cards with her. She suddenly found it very comfortable "in this fine old room in the castle mill, where there is really space to breathe in," and, weary with her walk, she would seat herself contentedly in the old-fashioned chintz-covered sofa, that had once sustained the castle miller's burly form, and enjoy the delicious coffee which Kitty always prepared for her, making no sort of remonstrance when Susy, at a nod from her young mistress, hung upon the maid's arm a basket filled with fresh butter and eggs. It was best not to speak to her of Flora, who of course had not lost one penny of her fortune, and who now indeed paid the rent of her grandmother's rooms and the wages of her maid, but could do nothing more, since, as she wrote, she needed all the rest of her income for herself, and could hardly manage to live upon it. She had soon quitted ZÜrich, where the study of "that disgusting medicine irritated the nerves almost to madness." She was one of those intellectual coquettes who pose for a certain part, greedy for notoriety and a reputation for profound and thorough attainment, while in reality they recoil from the slightest amount of genuine serious study. Easter was at hand. For several weeks improvements had been going on in the garden of the house by the river. The doctor had sent a gardener from L——, who laid out new paths, or rather tried to restore the pretty old garden to its original plan. Many men were busy digging and planting, and places were arranged for some statues which had arrived from L—— and were still unpacked in the hall. The shutters of the house had been thrown open for two weeks; the rooms had been freshly painted and papered, and a flag-pole had been erected upon the roof. Then the Frau Dean's friend moved out from town, bringing with her a host of charwomen, who made the house a shining mirror of neatness and cleanliness from garret to cellar. Kitty had not discontinued her walks. On the very day before Easter she came hither once more, at noon. The men were still at work in the garden, but the evergreens that had overgrown the land belonging to the house, forming here and there an impenetrable thicket, had been thinned and left only within the boundaries first assigned them, while from among their dark foliage gleamed the new statues. The winding paths were freshly gravelled, the old creaking wooden gate had been replaced by one of wrought iron; the Frau Dean's arbour had been freshly painted, and behind the house a high picket-fence enclosed a new poultry-yard. Upon the familiar stone pedestal before the door stood a Terpsichore with arms gracefully extended, just as Kitty had imagined her from the remains of the little marble foot. "The statue is very pretty," the strange gardener said to her with a shrug, "but it ought to be more elegantly placed. This lawn," and he looked around upon the old bleaching-ground, "is quite wild, by no means in proper order, but the Herr Professor strictly forbade my touching it." Kitty stooped with crimson cheeks and plucked the first violet, winch had opened fully in all its fragrance at the base of the pedestal. "Yes, the grass is full of weeds," the man said over his shoulder, as he walked on. And the house, now really a little castle, actually shone with freshness and beauty—"fitted up as if for a bride," the Frau Dean's old friend remarked to Kitty with an unsuspecting smile. The snow-white kitten came softly to the door over the new tiles of the hall. In the Frau Dean's sitting-room, behind the crocheted curtains, in the midst of the laurels and large-leaved plants that had been moved out from town, the canary-bird piped his clear shrill song. The former life was beginning here anew, and the Frau Dean herself was to arrive by the afternoon train. She was to bring a guest with her, her old friend had remarked with a mysterious twinkle of the eye; who it was she did not know, but she had been commissioned to provide the guest-chamber with new furniture. And as she spoke she threw open the folding-doors leading into it from the hall, and tears filled Kitty's eyes as she thought of Henriette, who had lain here in such pain, and yet peaceful and happy as never before in her sad life. But even while her thoughts were thus occupied she was conscious of a sharp, unfamiliar pang of jealousy. Who was this guest who had become so dear to the Frau Dean's heart that she had been invited to stay with her? The gay rose-covered curtains and the hanging-baskets filled their old places, but the rickety furniture had made way for what was new and pretty, although very simple, and instead of the faded illustrations of Vosz's "Luise" some fine landscapes hung upon the freshly-papered walls. The well-remembered room had been converted into a pretty sitting-room, and an adjoining cabinet that had formerly stood empty had been arranged for a sleeping-apartment. All this Kitty looked at once more, with tear-dimmed eyes, and then walked home to place herself at her desk and answer several business letters. Lenz was to return in the evening from a business trip he had undertaken, and his young mistress was anxious to have all in readiness to be entrusted to his hands while she spent the next fortnight with her foster-parents in Dresden. Ah, how difficult it was to fix her attention! Her pulses throbbed, and the handwriting, usually so clear and firm, looked scrawled and careless. She was interrupted too by the Frau President's maid, who came with a large empty market-basket on her arm, on her way to make her Easter purchases of provisions, and the Frau President had told her, since it was only a little out of her road, to stop at the mill and give FrÄulein Kitty FrÄulein Flora's letter to read. It had just come. Susy was immediately instructed to fill the basket with all sorts of delicacies from her pantry, but the letter lay untouched upon FrÄulein Kitty's writing-table long after the maid had returned to her mistress. The Frau President had several times previously sent the young girl her step-sister's letters. The sheets had seemed to burn beneath her touch, but she had dutifully read them through that she might not seem ill-natured. And now a flickering flame seemed creeping towards her from the perfumed envelope lying near her elbow. Impatiently she moved her arm and pushed it beneath a pile of bill-headings. She could not see why, to-day, she should give herself the pain that the reading of these letters always caused her, made up as they were of frivolity, arrogance, and conceit. She took up her pen again, but only for a few moments. In her agitation she bent her head, as towards a protecting talisman, over the violet she had just placed in a tiny vase of water, and inhaled its sweet cooling fragrance; she went to her piano and played a soothing, peaceful air; she opened one of the windows and stroked the tame doves perched upon the sill, trying to persuade herself meanwhile that the sending of the letter was in fact only a masked advance upon her pantry—but there must have been an evil spell in the mischievous envelope. She could no longer resist the impulse to open it, but pushed aside the pile of papers, and removed the cover. As she did so a sealed enclosure fell from it. She did not notice it: her eyes wandering over the first page opened wide in amazement, and involuntarily, strong girl as she was, she grasped at some support. Flora wrote thus from Berlin: ——"You will laugh and exult, dear grandmamma, but I now see that it is best,—an hour ago I was betrothed to your former favourite, Karl von Stetten. He is uglier and more awkward than ever, and his bull-dog physiognomy is not improved by the blue spectacles he has lately begun to wear. Fi donc—I shall never be very proud to walk by his side, but his dog-like constancy to his really insane passion for me has moved me at last, and since through the unexpected death of his young cousin he has suddenly fallen heir to Lingen and Stromberg, and stands very well at court here and in society, I really had no further objection to make——" The letter was tossed upon the table. Bruck was free,—no longer fettered so that he could not come to the castle mill. Ah, what a change after all these seven terrible months of torture, of effort to train and bend her stubborn heart,—to scourge each wandering thought so that she might attain at last to the strong stoicism that would enable her calmly to transfer the hated ring to the hand of his betrothed, and then to pursue her own course, lonely but blameless! She covered her eyes with her hand, as if some phantom had appeared in the midst of her bewildering delight. Perhaps she had not read the words aright! Could it be so? Flora was betrothed? At the eleventh hour, after so many unsuccessful attempts to achieve fame, was she taking refuge in matrimony? Kitty again took up the thick perfumed sheet,—yes, yes, there it really was in the "sprawling hand." And then followed long and exact instructions as to how the betrothal was to be announced in the capital; and there was much talk of the marriage, which was to take place upon Easter Monday. Then came the invitation to her grandmamma to be present. This was all as clear as daylight; but the girl grew deadly pale and felt faint and sick as she read on. Flora wrote further: "On my way to Berlin I stopped for a day or two at L——. It will interest you to hear that a certain Hofrath and Professor has achieved not only name and fame, but also won the heart of a fair countess. I was everywhere told that he has been privately betrothed to this charming patient of his, whose cure he effected after her case had been given over as hopeless by all other physicians. The noble parents are abundantly content with their daughter's choice, and the dear and pious old aunt has not refused to bestow her blessing upon the pair. I saw her seated beside them in a box at the theatre, as eminently peaceful and virtuous as ever, wearing, if I am not mistaken, cotton gloves upon her hands. The girl is very pretty,—a doll's face with no expression. And he?—I can speak out to you, grandmamma, and confess that I bit my lip until it bled, with vexation that stupid chance should have made this man the object of universal homage and consideration, and that he could stand there behind the chair of his betrothed so calm and self-assured, as if all this distinction were his by right, and as if he knew nothing of weakness or dishonour——! Let Kitty have the enclosed note——" Yes, there it lay, closely sealed, upon the writing-table, bearing the address, "Kitty Mangold." The room grew dim about her, and the slip of paper trembled in the hands that shook as if with a fever-fit. It contained only these words: "Have the kindness to deliver to the Countess Witte the ring entrusted to you, or, if you choose, throw it into the river after the other! FLORA." Kitty suddenly grew calm; mechanically she folded up the note and laid it with the letter. Was the beautiful countess the guest for whom the guest-chamber had been prepared? She shook her head decidedly, and her brown eyes began to beam brightly as she clasped her hands upon her throbbing breast. Was she worthy ever to look him in the face again if she could doubt him for an instant? He had said, "I shall come at Easter;" and he would come, although the most brilliant eloquence should persuade her to the contrary. She would believe nothing save that he loved her and that he would come. No, no, a haughty lord might have the heart to present to his former love a proud new mistress of his home; but not he,—he in his singleness of soul. He would not break his promise to the miller's granddaughter for the sake of another, even were that other a countess. An ecstasy possessed her soul in which all thought seemed lost. She flew to the southern window to get one glimpse of the dear old house. A gay flag was floating above its roof. Had the guests arrived, then? Should she hasten to embrace the dean's widow? No, agitated as she was, she could not go. She must banish the traitorous colour from her cheeks and quiet the throbbing of her heart before she could meet the gentle lady's clear kindly eye. Rest, rest! She went to her writing-table. The huge ledger lay open upon it; in that drawer were six business letters which ought to be answered to-day; and she could hear the rumbling in the court-yard below of one of the clumsy mill-wagons laden with grain. The dogs were barking furiously at a beggar to whom Susy was throwing a piece of bread from her window. Here was enough of prosaic reality. And the rude pictures, which, as they had formerly been the objects of her grandfather's admiration, still adorned the walls, were as little calculated to excite emotion as the stout stuffed cushion of the sofa above which they hung, or the tall Schwarzwald clock standing stiff and straight against the wall, swinging its weary pendulum behind the ground glass. The young girl's glance lingered among all these glories, till finally she took a sheet of paper and dipped her pen in the ink. "Messrs. Schilling & Co., Hamburg,"—oh, no one would be able to read that! In despair she passed her hand over her forehead, parting the brown curls so that a faint crimson scar was disclosed. Thus she sat for a moment, motionless, her left hand covering her eyes, her right still holding the rebellious pen. Suddenly she felt a cool air upon her cheek; the draught came from an open door or window; she looked up, and there he stood upon the topmost step of the small flight leading into the room, smiling and radiant with the joy of return. "Leo! I knew it!" she exclaimed; and, throwing down her pen, she ran towards him and was clasped in his arms. Susy came running from the hall. What was the matter? The door was wide open, and she had heard the cry. She stood open-mouthed; the corner of her blue apron, with which she had been about to wipe her heated forehead, dropped from her hand in dismay, for there upon the well-scoured boards of her sacred castle-mill room stood Doctor Bruck, clasping her FrÄulein in his arms as if he never in his life meant to release her. Lord save us! if they were betrothed no one knew it. She cautiously crept nearer to close the door, but Kitty saw her, and with a burning blush tried to extricate herself from her lover's embrace. The doctor laughed, the gay musical laugh of former times, and held her fast. "No, Kitty, you came, to be sure, of your own accord, but I cannot trust you yet," he said. "I should be a fool to give you a chance of transforming yourself into a titter again. Come in, Susy," he cried over his shoulder to the old housekeeper; "you must witness the fact that we we betrothed, before I can let her go." Susy wiped her eyes, and was profuse in her congratulations, after which she hurried across the court-yard to tell the news to her gossip and crony, poor Franz's widow, lamenting at the same time that the good times at the mill were nearly over, since the FrÄulein was to be married. The doctor went to the writing-table and solemnly closed the huge ledger. "The career of the lovely miller's maiden is at an end, for—Easter has come," he said. "How I have counted the days of this time of probation, which I myself ordained that I might not lose you altogether! You cannot tell how hard it is to live on from hour to hour in uncertainty, when the whole happiness of life is at stake. My only consolation I found in your letters to my aunt, in which, in spite of the character and force of will that they showed, I fancied I could detect your love. But how few and short they were!" He took her hand and drew her towards him again. "I knew that a time of renunciation must intervene between the unhappy past and my complete happiness; I bore in mind all your sorrow for your sister; but to this hour I have never been able to understand why you would have renounced me forever and lived a lonely unblessed existence." He paused suddenly, and his face flushed,—there beside the closed ledger lay a folded note; he knew the large uncertain characters only too well: such missives had frequently been sent him in the early days of his former engagement. Firmly Kitty laid her hand upon the paper. Why expose this detestable intrigue? Let it lie buried forever; there was no longer any obstacle in the way of her happiness. But the doctor gravely drew the note from beneath her detaining fingers. "There must be no secret between us, Kitty," he said, "and this seems to be one." He read, and then insisted upon a full confession. Kitty told him of what she had endured, and through it all he could not but gratefully perceive the depth of the unselfish affection that would have foregone the happiness of an entire future to secure his freedom. "And what about the lovely Countess Witte? I thought she was coming with your aunt to take possession of the guest-chamber," Kitty said at last, smiling through her tears, wishing to change the current of thought which deprived her lover of all his wonted composure. She succeeded: he laughed. "I shall take possession of the guest-chamber," he replied. "I had reasons for not advising you beforehand of the time of my arrival, and I see they were good. As regards the young countess, she was an inmate of our household for three months while under my professional care, and is perhaps slightly demonstrative in the expression of her gratitude for the cure I was happily able to effect,—that is all. You will see her in a fortnight, when, my darling, I propose to bear away my bride to L——. Ours has been a long betrothal,—seven months! Will you not consent to kneel before the altar there?"—he pointed through the window to the spire of the neighbouring village church,—"I always had such an affection for that place." "You shall take me whither you will," she said, softly, "but I have duties here——" "Nonsense! the ledger is closed, and your faithful Lenz can say what is right to 'Schilling & Co.,' Hamburg." She laughed. "Well, then, command, and I obey!" she rejoined. "I will retire;—good news for Lenz, who will rent the mill and soon make good his losses." They left the house, and Kitty, leaning on the doctor's arm, walked along the path she had traversed so often in the wintry weather. To-day it was delicious to wander there beneath the arching, budding boughs. The soft willow buds brushed the girl's glowing cheeks; a gentle evening breeze was blowing, and the stream flowed rippling between banks clothed in the tender green of early spring. The park lay beyond, quiet and grand as ever; they saw the swans slowly gliding upon the lake, and high above the tops of the trees a blue-and-yellow flag fluttered from the roof of the villa The lord of the mansion was at home. What a tide of recollections flooded the two hearts that had just plighted their troth for time and for eternity! "Do you know," whispered the doctor, "that they say Moritz has been seen in America?" She nodded. "A few days ago Franz's widow received five hundred thalers from an anonymous friend in California. She cannot imagine who her benefactor is; but I know him." And she told Leo of the light-bearded workman who had driven away the roes to save them from a cruel death because they had been his pets in former happy days. There stood the dear old house in the fading evening light. The labourers had left the garden. A solemn silence brooded over it all, the statues gleamed white among the evergreens, and the dean's widow came down the steps from the hall-door her arms extended to clasp to her motherly heart her "own dearest Kitty," whose love she had so long prayed might bless her darling. Deep and full came the sound of the chimes in the distant town; they were ringing in—Easter! THE END. ******** MRS. A. L. WISTER'S Translations from the German of E. Marlitt. 12mo. Bound in Cloth. The Owl's Nest NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION, HANDSOMELY BOUND. Other Translations. Countess Erika's Apprenticeship. By Ossip Schubin J. B. Lippincott Company, Publishers,
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