At the Councillor's

The rays of a December sun shone dimly into a room in the large castle mill, calling forth feeble sparks of light from the strange objects lying on the broad stone window-sill, and then vanishing in a bank of snow-clouds that were rising slowly but steadily in the west. The objects sparkling so strangely on the window-sill were some portion of a surgeon's apparatus; those instruments the cold, steely glitter of which startles the eye and sends a shudder through the nerves of many a brave man.

A huge bedstead, the head and footboard clumsily painted with gaudy roses and carnations, and piled with feather-beds and patchwork quilts, stood directly in the broad light from the window, and upon this bed lay the castle miller. The skilful hand of the physician had just relieved him of a tumour in the throat that had several times threatened his life with suffocation. It had been a perilous undertaking, but the young man who now pulled down the window-shade and began to put up his instruments looked entirely satisfied,-the operation had succeeded.

The invalid, who shortly before, when only partly under the influence of chloroform, had pushed away the hand of the physician, abusing him in a hoarse voice as a robber and murderer, now lay quiet and exhausted among the pillows. He had been forbidden to talk,-surely an unnecessary prohibition, for it would have been difficult to find a face bearing so unmistakable an impress of dull taciturnity as did this square, clumsy countenance, which had but one beauty to boast of,-the thick, silvery hair that enclosed it as in a frame.

"Are you satisfied, Bruck?"[#] asked a gentleman, who now approached the physician from the foot of the bed, where he had been standing. His handsome features wore an expression of keen anxiety.

[#] Pronounced Brook.

The doctor nodded. "All right so far; the patient's strong constitution will stand him in stead now," he said, quietly, glancing towards the old man. "At present all depends upon the nursing; I must leave. For some time he must not stir from his present position. There must be no hemorrhage from the wound--"

"I will see to that," the other interrupted him, eagerly; "I will stay as long as careful watching is needed. Will you not leave word at the villa that I shall not come back to tea?"

A slight flush mounted to the physician's cheek, and there was some embarrassment in the tone of his reply: "I cannot go round through the park. I must get to town as quickly as possible--"

"You have not seen Flora to-day, doctor--"

"I know that well enough. I--" He paused, compressed his lips, and took up his case of instruments. "I have some patients very ill," he went on, calmly: "the little Lenz girl will die before to-morrow morning. I cannot save the child, but the parents, who are utterly exhausted with nursing and anxiety, are counting the moments while I am away from them; the mother will eat only when I insist upon it."

Ho approached the bed, where the sick man raised his eyes to him with a look of perfect consciousness; there was even a glimmer of gratitude in them for the sudden and unspeakable relief he had experienced. He would have taken his benefactor's hand, but the latter imposed quiet with his own, as he reiterated the necessity for avoiding all motion whatever. "The councillor will remain here, Herr Sommer," he added, "and see that my injunctions are strictly obeyed."

This seemed to content the old man; he looked towards the councillor, who confirmed by a nod the physician's words, and then he closed his eyes as if to try to sleep. Doctor Bruck took his hat, gave his hand to the councillor, and left the room.

To an anxious wife seated by the bedside of the patient his departure would have been the signal for a weary sense of forlornness,-the opposite of the fresh courage with which his coming inspired the poor mother who took needful nourishment only at his request. But no such loving anxiety watched by this man's couch. The old housekeeper, who came into the room to put it in order after the doctor's visit, looked coldly indifferent; she flitted about like a bat, and seemed much more distressed by a few drops of water that marred the polish upon one of her tables than by the danger that had threatened her master's life.

"Pray let that be for the present, Susie," the councillor said, in his most courteous tone. "Your rubbing that table makes a noise very irritating to the nerves; Doctor Bruck prescribes absolute repose for Papa."

Susie hastily picked up housecloth and broom, and betook herself to her neat and shining kitchen, there to forget the stains upon the table. As perfect quiet as was possible in the mill reigned in the room she had left; up through the floor came the continuous, measured beat of machinery; the water tumbling over the weir outside sang its perpetual refrain, and now and then the doves fluttered against the window-pane, or cooed in the branches of the ancient chestnuts, through which the western light faintly illumined the room. These mingled noises did not exist as such for the sick man, however: they were as much part and parcel of his existence as the beating of his heart.

It was indeed a repulsive face which the elegant figure at the bedside watched, according to his promise, so carefully. Its coarseness, the hard lines of low vulgarity about the pendulous nether lip, had never so impressed and disgusted him as now, when sleep or exhaustion had robbed it of force and revealed all its original characteristics. Yes, the old man had begun life low enough in the scale, as a hard-worked mill-servant, but he was now the owner of untold wealth; trade had made a money-monarch of the invalid upon the clumsy old bedstead; and this fact, doubtless, had something to do with the familiar epithet of "Papa" bestowed upon him by the councillor, who was not bound to him by any tie of blood. The councillor had married the daughter of the deceased banker Mangold by his first wife. For his second, Mangold had wooed and won the daughter of the old miller. This was all the relationship that existed between the miller and his nurse.

The councillor arose and stepped softly to the window. He was a man of vivacious temperament, and sitting still in this way made him nervous; he could not bear the constant gazing upon that unsympathetic face, those coarse, sinewy fists, now buried in the down coverlet, which had once wielded the whip above the mill-horses. The chestnuts before the window had long since shed their last leaf; every opening left in the tracery of their boughs formed a rural landscape picture, each lovelier than the other, although for the moment the dark December sky dimmed the lustre that was reflected from the little lake, and veiled in misty gloom the hazy purple of the distant mountain-tops.

There, on the right, the river, after turning the wheels of the castle mill, made a sudden bend; a frame-work of boughs on that side enclosed a strip of its shining course, and a structure the purposes of which it was made to serve, a huge, square, unornamented stone building, with rows of windows enhancing its naked ugliness. This was the councillor's factory. He too was a rich man; he employed hundreds of weavers at clattering looms, and this property of his placed him in a kind of dependent position with regard to the castle miller. The mill, built hundreds of years before by a lord of the land, had been endowed with immense prerogatives, which, still in force, controlled a considerable stretch of the river, and were irritating enough to the dwellers upon its banks. Upon these prerogatives the burly master of the castle mill took his stand, and showed his teeth to any one who dared to lay a finger upon his rights. Once only a tenant of the mill, he had slowly but surely stretched forth the arms of his growing wealth, until not only the mill was his own, but also the baronial estate to which it had originally belonged. This he had accomplished shortly before the marriage of his only child to the respectable banker Mangold. The extensive forests and farm-land upon the estate were all that the miller cared for; the magnificent villa in the midst of its stately park had always been an eye-sore to him; nevertheless, he had kept the "costly toy" in perfect repair, for the pleasure of seeing his daughter rule as mistress where the former haughty lord had always disdained even to answer his salute. The councillor now rented the villa; there was every reason, therefore, that he should be upon the best terms with his landlord, and one who possessed such control of the river. And this was the case: the councillor was as a docile son to the surly old man.

Four o'clock struck from the factory tower, and the gas instantly lit up the counting-room windows. Twilight came on early indeed on this afternoon: the air was filled with that moisture that brings snow; the smoke from city chimneys hung low over the earth, while the slate roof of the factory and every stone door-step were glassy with intense damp; the doves, until now huddled together upon the bare chestnut-boughs, suddenly left them and flew to the warm, dry dove-cote. The councillor looked back into the room with a shiver. By contrast it looked almost comfortable and cosy to the man to whose refined taste it was usually so repulsive, with its constant smell of cooking, its smoky ceiling, and the coarse prints here and there upon the walls; but Susie had just replenished the fire in the stove with pine wood, the old-fashioned sofa against the wall looked inviting with its huge soft cushions, and upon the bright panes of glass in the recess-door the last gleams of daylight were reflected. Ah, behind that door stood the iron safe: had he remembered to take out the key?

Just before the operation, the miller had made his will; as Doctor Bruck and the councillor entered the room, they met the lawyers and witnesses leaving it. Although outwardly composed, the patient must have gone through much agitation of mind: his hand had evidently been uncertain, for in putting away his papers he had left one of them lying upon the table. Noticing this omission, after the doctor's arrival he had requested the councillor to lock it up in the safe. A second door led from the recess where the safe was placed into an antechamber, and there were all sorts of people continually coming and going in the mill. The councillor had put away the paper, but left the door of the safe unlocked,-an inexcusable neglect,-and he hastily went to the little room. What would the old man, who guarded this precious place of deposit like a dragon, have said at seeing his money thus exposed! No one could possibly have entered the room, the councillor consoled himself by thinking; the slightest noise could not have escaped him; but he would make sure that everything was in order.

He opened the iron folding-doors as noiselessly as possible; there were the money-bags untouched, and before the packets of valuable papers were ranged columns of glittering gold pieces. He glanced rapidly over the paper, which in his former natural haste and agitation he had put carelessly into one of the neatly-arranged pigeon-holes: it was an inventory of the miller's entire possessions. What enormous sums those rows of figures represented! He carefully put it where it belonged, and in doing so he accidentally overthrew one of the columns of gold pieces: a number of napoleons fell noisily upon the floor. What an ugly sound they made! He had touched money belonging to another! A mixture of terror and uncalled-for shame sent the colour to his cheeks; he stooped in haste to pick up the money. As he did so, a heavy body fell upon him from behind, and hard, coarse fingers clutched his throat.

"You scoundrel, I am not dead yet!" the miller hissed in his ear, in a strange, muffled tone. There was a momentary struggle; all the councillor's strength and vigor were necessary to shake off the old man, who clung to him like a panther, grasping his throat so tightly that a shower of sparks seemed to flash before his eyes; he seized with both hands the mass that weighed him down, gave one strong thrust and push, and he was on his feet and free, while the miller staggered against the wall.

"Are you mad, Papa?" he gasped, breathlessly. "What vile suspicions!--" He paused in horror: the bandage beneath the old man's whitening face suddenly became crimson, and the dreadful colour crept rapidly downward over his white night-dress. This was the hemorrhage that was to have been so carefully guarded against.

The councillor's teeth chattered as in a fever-fit. Was this misfortune his fault? "No, no," he said to himself instantly, as he put his arm around the invalid to support him to his bed; but the old man thrust him away angrily, and pointed to the scattered gold; each piece had to be carefully picked up and arranged in place; in care for his money he either forgot or ignored the danger that threatened him. Not until the councillor had locked the safe and put the key into his hand did he totter back into his bedroom, there to fall helpless upon the bed; and when at last, summoned by the councillor's repeated cries for help, two mill-servants and Susie rushed into the room, there lay the castle miller on his back, his glazing eyes, from which all consciousness seemed to have departed, staring downward at the crimson dye which the welling life-stream was so rabidly spreading on every side.

A servant was dispatched to town to summon Doctor Bruck, while the housekeeper hurriedly brought water and linen. They were of no avail. The councillor anxiously applied cloth after cloth to the wound,-the stream would not be stayed. There was no doubt of it, an artery had burst. How had it happened? Was the old man's mental and physical excitement alone to blame, or-his heart seemed to stop beating at the thought-had he in defending himself struck and mortally aggravated the wound in the throat? How can there be any exact memory of the moment of defence against a furious assault? Who could tell whether, with murderous fingers clutching his throat, and his overcharged brain kindling thousands of fires in the air, he had seized shoulder or throat of his assailant? Why imagine so ghastly a possibility? Was not the spring out of bed, the excess of rage, quite enough to bring on the disaster which the physician had predicted would be the result of any sudden movement? No, no, his conscience was clear; he had nothing to reproach himself with, whatever might have been the cause of this terrible event. He had gone to the safe solely in the old man's interest; there had not been in his mind even a fleeting desire to possess any of that wealth; this he was sure of. How could he help the low suspicions of the miserable old corn-dealer, who saw a possible robber in every man, no matter what his position and culture? Anxiety and horror gave place to indignation in the councillor's mind. This came of his amiability, the innate courtesy for which his friends declared he was distinguished; it had often induced him to take upon himself responsibilities which had involved him disagreeably. Had he but stayed at home,-in his comfortable library, at the whist-table, or smoking a cigar in peace! His evil genius had prompted him to play the part of self-sacrificing nurse, and here he was in this terrible situation, shuddering with horror and disgust, his hands moistened with the blood of the wretch who would have strangled him.

The minutes were surely weighted with lead! The miller now seemed aware of the peril he had brought upon himself; he did not stir, but his eyes turned anxiously towards the door whenever footsteps were heard without; his hopes for rescue lay in the physician. The councillor, dismayed, marked the change in his countenance. That ashen hue was the sure forerunner of death.

Susie brought in the lamp; she had been repeatedly to the door to look for Doctor Bruck, and she now stood at the side of the bed, shaking her head in mute horror at the sight that the faint lamp-light revealed. A few moments more, and the miller's eyes closed. The key, until then clutched convulsively in his hand, fell upon the counterpane. Involuntarily the councillor extended his hand to put it away, but as he touched the bit of iron the thought suddenly struck him, like an unexpected blow, of the aspect this unfortunate accident might wear in the eyes of the world. He knew only too well what slander could do with its poisonous breath,-how it could glide through his halls and apartments, received by men as well as by women with malicious satisfaction, ambiguous smiles, and finger-pointings. If a single person should say, with a shrug, "Aha, what was Councillor R?mer looking for in the miller's safe?" it would be enough. Such words would not be spoken by one voice only. Like all fortunate men, he numbered many among his acquaintances who envied and disliked him; he knew that it would be everywhere told in town to-morrow how the operation had been quite successful, but that the irritation produced in the patient by seeing the man self-installed as nurse secretly visiting his safe had brought on a fatal hemorrhage. And there would be a stain upon the name of R?mer, the envied favorite of fortune, which no legal investigation could remove, for there could be no friendly witnesses. Would not his previous honourable career be sufficient testimony in his favour? He laughed bitterly to himself as he wiped the drops of cold perspiration from his brow. No one knew better than he how ready the world is to stigmatize as mere sham any uprightness of character as soon as appearances are against it. He leaned over the unconscious man, whose temples Susie was bathing with spirits, and suddenly regarded him in a different light: should he never recover sufficient strength to tell of what had occurred, it would be buried with him: there were no other lips to speak of it.

At last the watch-dog barked outside; hasty steps crossed the court-yard and ascended the stairs. Doctor Bruck paused for a moment, as if petrified, at the door of the room, then silently laid his hat upon the table, and approached the bed. The solemn moment that ensued seemed to throb with expectation of the verdict about to be pronounced.

"If he would only come to himself again, Herr Doctor," the housekeeper said, at last, in an anxious whisper.

"He will hardly do that," Doctor Bruck replied, looking up from his investigation. All colour had fled from his face. "Be quiet," he sternly ordered, as Susie was about to break out into loud lamentations, "and tell me why the patient left his bed!" He took the lamp from the table and pointed to the floor beside the bed: the planks were sprinkled with blood.

"That comes from the cloths we have been using," the councillor explained, in a decided tone, although he had grown very pale; while the housekeeper affirmed by all that was holy that the castle miller was lying just as the doctor had left him when she entered the room.

Doctor Bruck shook his head. "This hemorrhage never came on without cause; it must have been produced by some violent agitation."

"None that I know of; I assure you, none!" said the councillor, meeting the physician's keen glance with tolerable firmness. "What do you mean by looking at me thus? I cannot see why I should conceal from you that the patient had sprung from his bed in an excess of fever, if such had been the case." He would keep to the path he had chosen, although the last words seemed to stick in his throat. To save mere appearances he sacrificed his honour, he lied with a brazen brow; but then he had not been in fault with regard to what had occurred; his life had fairly been in peril. There was not a single consideration that could make an explanation of the real facts of the case necessary.

The physician turned silently away and busied himself with his patient. Once or twice the miller opened his eyes, but they gazed unmeaningly into space, and the effort to speak died away in a rattle in his throat.

A few hours afterwards, Councillor R?mer left the castle mill. All was over. Across the doors of the recess broad strips of paper were already pasted. As soon as the miller breathed his last, the councillor advised the legal authorities of the fact, and, like a conscientious, prudent man, saw seals placed upon everything before he left the spot.

He walked home through the park. The feeble glimmer of the mill-lights which accompanied him for a few steps of the way vanished behind him, and he went on alone in the black darkness. It was not the keen breeze sweeping by him, nor the few snow-flakes touching his cheek like some fluttering bird of night, but the memory of the last few hours, and his excited fancy, that made him shiver as if with bitter cold.

That very afternoon he had left his well-furnished table, and along this path, where now the pebbles beneath his tread grated discordantly, he had walked, secure, as he thought, in the protection of his lucky star; and now, after so short a time, it would almost seem as if he, Councillor R?mer, whose sensitive nerves would not allow him to witness the suffering even of a brute, had been partly guilty of the death of a fellow-creature. Surely the gods, impatient of a mortal lot without a thorn, had envied him, and had thus burdened his conscience that there might be some infusion of gall in the clear stream of his prosperity,-and all for nothing. He could be reproached with nothing but silence; and whom could his silence injure? No one,-no one in the wide world! Basta! no more of this. He turned into the broad linden avenue that led directly to the villa. A brilliant stream of light was issuing from the windows and glass doors of the lower suite of rooms. A life of luxury and enjoyment reached out white, rounded arms to him from those rooms, beckoning him away from the dark night and all his anxiety. He breathed more freely, threw off the evil influence of the last hours, and let it vanish with the sound of the mill-stream that was dying away in the distance.

There, around the Frau President Urach's tea-table and card-tables a numerous evening company was assembled. The large, low panes of glass, and the bronze tracery of the balustrade of the balcony outside, permitted an excellent view from without of the interior. The bright pictures on the walls, the heavy portières of violet velvet, the chandeliers of gilded bronze with their gas-lights shining through pearly glass shades, stood out in relief against the surrounding blackness of the winter night like a scene upon some fairy stage. A sudden gust of wind swept down the avenue, tossing snowflakes and dry linden-leaves madly against the balcony, but the hurly-burly had no effect upon the dignified repose reigning within: there was not even a motion of the airy lace curtains; the fire alone flickering upon the marble hearth might blaze more brightly for an instant when breathed upon by the blast down the chimney.

The man outside looked in with a sensation of trembling delight upon the group assembled there. Not that he saw there fair and dark curls, slender women and girls to enchant his eye. No; the fairy heralds of spring painted on the ceiling extended their rosy flower-filled palms above matronly caps, gray hair, and bald heads; but then the names of their owners!-officers of high rank, pensioned maids of honour, and members of the ministry sat at the card-tables, or, leaning back in the velvet lounging-chairs, chatted by the warm fireside. The arrogant old councillor of medicine, Von B?r, was there too. As he dealt the cards, sparks of light flashed from the jewels upon his hands,-all gifts from loyal personages. And these people were in his house, Councillor R?mer's house; the ruby wine sparkling in the goblets was from his cellar, and the fresh, fragrant strawberries which liveried footmen were handing about in crystal saucers had been bought with his money. Frau President Urach was his deceased wife's grandmother, and did the honours in the house of the widower, with unlimited command of his means.

The councillor walked around to the western side of the house. Here only two windows on the ground-floor were illuminated; a hanging lamp between the crimson curtains of one of them gleamed out into the darkness, bathing in rosy light the white limbs of a marble nymph by a fountain in the grove. Herr R?mer shook his head as he entered; then, giving his overcoat to a servant, he opened the door of the red-curtained apartment. The room was all red,-hangings, furniture, even the carpet was of the same dark crimson hue. Beneath the hanging lamp stood a writing-table of peculiar Chinese form, with golden arabesques covering its fine black lacquer; it was made for use in the fullest sense of the word; open books, sheets of writing-paper, and newspapers were scattered over it, with a manuscript, across which a pencil was lying, beside a small silver salver holding a goblet half full of a strong, dark-red wine. It was a room where flowers would not have flourished nor birds have sung. In each of the four corners stood a black marble pedestal, each supporting a bust of the same material, which brought into harsh relief the features it portrayed; book-shelves lined the long wall, harmonizing in colour and decoration with the writing-table, and containing finely-bound modern books as well as parchment-covered folios, and piles of pamphlets. It almost seemed as if the deep uniform crimson of the hangings and carpet had been chosen as the only fitting frame for the severe style in which the room was furnished.

As the councillor entered, a lady who had evidently been walking to and fro stood still. One might have thought that she too had just come in covered with snow from the flurry without, so dazzlingly white did she look upon the crimson carpet. It would have been difficult to say whether the soft folds of her long cashmere robe were draped so loosely about her waist and hips for the sake of convenience, or whether this strange and becoming toilette were the result of careful study; certainly the figure that stood out upon the crimson background was noble in outline, and as purely white as an Iphigenia. The lady was very beautiful, although no longer freshly young. She had a fine Roman profile, and a delicate, supple frame, but her light hair was wanting in thickness; it was cut short, and, smoothed away from the brow, curled in soft, flimsy curls about the head and neck. She was Flora Mangold, a sister-in-law of Councillor R?mer, the twin-sister of his deceased wife. Her arms were lightly folded across her bosom, and she greeted her brother-in-law with evident eagerness.

"Well, Flora, have you left the drawing-room?" he asked.

"Do you suppose I could stay beside grandmamma's tea-table, in the midst of stockings and swaddling-clothes for poor children, and all that old woman's gossip?" she replied, in a tone of irritation.

"But there are gentlemen there, too, Floss--"

"Greater gossips than the rest, in spite of their orders and epaulettes!"

He laughed. "You are out of humour, ma chère," he said, sinking into an arm-chair.

She threw back her head and pressed her folded hands to her breast. "Moritz," she said, breathing hard, as if after a momentary struggle with herself, "tell me the truth; did the castle miller die beneath Bruck's knife?"

He started. "What an idea! No misfortune can be so black but that you women--"

"I pray you make me an exception there, Moritz," she interrupted him, haughtily.

"Well, with all due respect for your talent and remarkable powers of mind, are you in fact any better than the rest?" He got up and paced the room in great annoyance; this new view of the matter was startling indeed. "Beneath Bruck's knife!" he repeated, in an agitated voice. "I tell you the operation was performed before two o'clock, and the man died scarcely two hours ago. Besides, I cannot imagine how you if all others can venture to give utterance to such a thought so curtly and coldly,-I might almost say, so pitilessly."

"I of all others," she said, with emphasis, as she pressed the carpet with her foot; "I of all others, because I cannot endure to keep anything hidden in the depths of my soul. I am too proud, too unbending, to share and conceal the knowledge of wrong done by another, let that other be whom he will. Do not think that I do not suffer! It cuts me to the heart like a knife. But you have used the word 'pitilessly'; you could not better have confirmed my suspicions. Pity for bungling in science is absurd, impossible; and you as well as I are perfectly aware that Bruck's reputation as a physician has already suffered from his entire failure in the case of Countess Wallendorf."

"Oh, of course nothing could induce that worthy lady to moderate her appetite for paté de foie gras and champagne."

"That is what Bruck says; her relatives tell another story." She pressed her palms upon her temples, as if her head ached violently. "Do you know, Moritz, when the news of the miller's death arrived, I went out of the house and ran hither and thither like one insane? Old Sommer was well known to high and low: everybody was interested in the success of the operation. Even if, as you say, he did not die immediately beneath Bruck's knife, every one of medical knowledge will maintain, and justly, that the further struggle with death was due to his strong constitution. Can you, who have no medical knowledge, be better informed? Rather do not deny that you are impressed with the same conviction! You have no idea how pale you are with agitation."

At this moment a side-door opened, and Frau President Urach appeared upon the threshold. In spite of her seventy years, she entered with an elastic step; in spite of her seventy years, she looked a wonderfully youthful grandmamma. She was not apparelled in the dress of old age; a fichu of white lace was crossed upon her breast and knotted behind at the waist. The overskirt of her pearl-gray silk gown was richly trimmed. Her gray hair, still streaked here and there with its original hue of shining gold, was puffed thickly above her brow, and above these puffs she wore a veil-like scarf of white tulle, the long ends of which concealed the throat and the neck just below the chin, where age so surely sets its seal.

She was not alone. At her side there entered a creature most strange in appearance, evidently stunted in growth, not ill proportioned in figure, but extremely small, and very thin. This insignificant body was crowned by the strongly-developed head of a young lady of perhaps twenty-four years of age. The three women now in the room had a strong family resemblance in their features; the close relationship between grandmother and grandchildren was evident, but the noble, regular profile of the youngest of the three was too long for perfect beauty, and the chin was too broad and decisively prominent. She had a sickly complexion, and her lips were bluish in hue. In her fair hair was twisted a flame-coloured velvet ribbon, and she was in very elegant full dress, save that by her side, where other ladies wear a chatelaine, she carried a small oval osier basket lined with little cushions of blue satin, among which sat a canary-bird.

"No, Henriette!" cried Flora, impatiently, as the little bird left his nest and flew about her head, "that I will not have. You must leave your menagerie outside."

"Pray now, Flora,-Jack has neither elephants' feet nor horns on his head; he cannot harm you," the little lady replied, indifferently. "Come, Jacky, come!" she called; and the bird, after flying around the ceiling, dutifully came and perched upon the forefinger she held out for him.

Flora turned away with a shrug. "I cannot understand you or your guests, grandmamma," she said, sharply. "How can you tolerate Henriette's childish nonsense? Before long she will set up her pigeon-cote and daws'-nests in your drawing-room."

"And why not, Flora?" laughed the little lady, showing a row of small, sharp teeth. "They all tolerate you, going about everywhere with a pen behind your ear, your pockets crammed with bookish stuff, and--"

"Henriette!" the Frau President sternly interrupted her. In her bearing there was great dignity, and as she graciously gave her hand in greeting to the councillor, an unmistakable air of condescension mingled with the kindliness of her manner.

"I have just heard of your return, my dear Moritz; must we wait any longer for you?" she asked, in a gentle voice that was still musical.

Ten minutes previously he had come home, resolved to don his evening dress immediately. Now he replied, with hesitation, "Dearest grandmamma, I must beg you to excuse me this evening. The event at the mill--"

"True, it is very sad; but how can it affect us? I really cannot see how to excuse you to my friends."

"They can hardly be so dull of comprehension, those worthy people, as not to understand that Kitty's grand-papa has died?" Henriette remarked, looking back over her shoulder from where she was standing in front of the book-shelves, apparently reading assiduously the titles of the books.

"Henriette, I pray you spare me your pert observations," the Frau President said. "You can, if you choose, tone down your flame-coloured head-dress, for Kitty is your step-sister; but with regard to Moritz and myself, the connection is so slight that we need take no conventional notice of the death, deplore it as we may. And, for Bruck's sake, the less said about it the better."

"Good heavens, are you all determined to be so unjust to the doctor?" cried the councillor, in despair. "No blame-not the smallest-can be attached to him; he brought all his skill, all his scientific knowledge, to bear--"

"My dear Moritz, you should hear what my old friend Doctor von B?r has to say upon that point," the Frau President said, in interruption, lightly tapping him upon the shoulder and making a significant motion of her head towards Flora, who had gone to her writing-table.

"Oh, do not mind me, grandmamma! Do you think me so blind and deaf as not to know what B?r's opinion is?" the beautiful girl exclaimed, with bitterness. "Bruck has, besides, condemned himself: he has not ventured to come near me this evening."

Hitherto Henriette had been standing with her back towards the rest. Now she turned round; a burning blush suddenly coloured her sallow cheek and as quickly faded. Her eyes were wonderfully fine, revealing depths of passionate feeling. They glowed like stars as she turned them, with a mixture of shy terror and positive hatred, upon her sister's countenance.

"Your last accusation he will refute in person; he will shortly be here, Flora," said the councillor, evidently relieved. "He will tell you himself that he has been driven hard indeed, to-day. You know how many patients he has seriously ill in town,-among them the poor little Lenz girl, who cannot live until morning."

The lady laughed a low, bitter laugh. "Is she going to die? Really, Moritz? Well, B?r, too, came here to me before going to grandmamma; he spoke of the child, whom he saw yesterday, and thought not very ill; he feared, however, that Bruck was upon a false track. B?r is an authority--"

"Yes, an authority filled with envy," said Henriette, in a clear, ringing voice. She had hastily approached, and laid her hand upon her brother-in-law's arm. "Give up trying to convince Flora, Moritz. You must see that she is determined to find her lover guilty."

"Determined? 'Tis false! I would give half that I possess to regard Bruck as I did in the beginning of our engagement,-with the same proud trust and confidence," Flora exclaimed, passionately. "But since the death of the Countess Wallendorf I have been a silent prey to doubt and mistrust; now I doubt no more: I am convinced. I know nothing, it is true, of that feminine weakness that loves without ever asking, 'Is he whom I love worthy my devotion?' I am ambitious, wildly ambitious; I care not who knows it. Without that mainspring I too might saunter along the broad highway of the commonplace like the weak and indolent of my sex. God forbid such a fate for me! How an aspiring and intellectual woman can pass her life quietly and composedly, linked to an insignificant husband, has always been incomprehensible to me; I should writhe beneath the shame of such a position."

"Oh, indeed! would it so shame you? Well, well, I suppose it would require more courage than is needed to hold forth to a roomful of students upon ?sthetics and what not," Henriette said, with a smile full of malice.

Flora cast a contemptuous glance at her sister. "Hiss, little viper, if you will. What can you know of my ideal?" she said, with a shrug. "But you are right in thinking I should be more at home in the lecture-room than by the side of a man who has stamped himself a bungler in his profession; I could not endure such chains."

"That is your affair, my child," the Frau President coolly remarked, while the councillor looked up in dismay. "You must remember that no one forced you to fetter yourself thus."

"I know that perfectly well, grandmamma; I know, too, that you would greatly have preferred that I should become the wife of the Chamberlain von Stetten, physical and financial bankrupt though he be. I grant you, also, that I refuse to allow myself to be influenced or led by others, since I know best what best beseems me.

"There, too, you are your own mistress," her grandmother rejoined, with frigid dignity; "only remember one thing,-you will find in me a determined opponent to anything like a public scandal. You surely know me well enough to be aware that I would far rather endure great personal annoyance than give any occasion for gossip. I reside here with you, and take upon myself the duties of mistress of the house with pleasure, but I must in return exact an unconditional respect for my name and position; I will not have society whispering and tattling about our affairs."

The councillor turned hastily away. He went to a window, pulled aside the curtain, and gazed out into the night. The wind, which had gradually risen to a tempest, rattled at the window-frame, and in the red light cast upon the bare, tossing branches outside, by the lamp hanging in the other window, the crimsoned snow-flakes whirled madly hither and thither like the tormenting thoughts in his own brain. He had a short time before debated in his mind whether he should not explain matters fully, at least to Flora; now he knew that she was the last person to whom he could speak upon the subject, if he did not wish that the whisper and tattle of society should drive the Frau President from his house. No; he saw clearly that his ambitious sister-in-law would publish his confession far and wide, less from solicitude for her lover than from a desire to prove that her heart, or rather her head, could not have been mistaken in its choice.

Meanwhile, Henriette turned a face of anger and scorn towards her grandmother. "It is solely to avoid furnishing gossip for society, then, that you would have my sister bear herself blameless? She can easily satisfy you. You will instantly acquit her if she can cover her breach of faith with a silken mantle. But indeed you need not be so sensitive upon the subject of scandal, grandmamma: those living in the world as we do, soon find out that society regards many a sinner of rank and wealth much as it does an old piece of valuable porcelain,-the more patched the more precious."

"I must request you to pass the remainder of the evening in your own room, Henriette," the Frau President said, now seriously angry. "In your present mood, I cannot permit you to return to the drawing-room."

"As you please, grandmamma. Come, Jack, we will go with the greatest pleasure," she said, smiling, smoothing with her cheek the bird's plumage as it sat on her forefinger. "You hate those old court-ladies, too; and you regularly peck at the great medical authority, Herr von B?r, and nip his finger, you good little fellow, when he tries to coax you with sugar. Good-night, grandmamma; good-night, Moritz." She paused in her hasty departure, and turned back. "That strong-minded lady there," she said, with cutting emphasis, "will probably pursue the path which her dead father would have inexorably forbidden to her; while he lived there was no chance for her boasted exercise of her own will. He would never have allowed her to break her troth with an honourable man."

She left the room with her head proudly erect, but, even as she crossed the threshold, the tears which had been plainly audible in her voice as she spoke the last words gushed from her eyes.

"Thank God, she has gone!" cried Flora. "What an amount of self-control is required not to lose one's patience with her!"

"I never forget her invalid condition," the Frau President remarked, in a reproving tone.

"And she is right, in a certain sense, Flora," the councillor ventured to interpose.

"You may think as you choose upon that point, Moritz," the young lady rejoined, coldly; "but I must earnestly entreat you not to make my task more difficult by your interference. I am used, as I said just now, to judge for myself in what concerns me, and I shall do so in this case. And you may be perfectly easy,-you and grandmamma. I excessively dislike any sudden and harsh measure, and I have a noiseless ally,-time."

She took the goblet from the writing-table and moistened her pale lips with a few drops of its contents, while the Frau President, without further remonstrance, prepared to leave the room.

"Apropos, Moritz," she said, with her hand upon the knob of the door, "what is to be done with Kitty now?"

"We must leave it to the will to decide all that," he replied, drawing a long breath of relief. "I have no idea how the castle miller has arranged matters. Kitty is his natural heir, but it is doubtful whether he has left all his property to her; he always resented the fact that her birth cost his daughter her life. In any case she must come here for a while."

"Do not trouble yourself about that; she will not come; she is tied as securely to-day to the apron-string of her detestable old governess as she was during papa's lifetime," said Flora. "That is easy to see from her letters."

"Well, perhaps it is better that she should stay where she is," the Frau President remarked, with a shade of eagerness. "To be candid, I have no great desire to shelter her beneath my wing and waste my time in schooling her; it is very tiresome. I never really liked her; not because she was the child of my daughter's successor,-that I have always declared,-but she was altogether too much at home in the mill, getting her clothes and hair covered with meal; and then she was a self-willed little thing."

"A genuine 'child of the people,' and yet-papa's darling," Flora added, with a bitter smile.

"Apparently, my dear, because she was his youngest child," said the Frau President, who never permitted a suspicion, either in herself or in others, that any one belonging to her could be slighted. "You were just as much his darling at one time. Well, Moritz, are you coming?"

He hastily complied. As they left the room, Flora rang for her maid. "I wish to retire to my dressing-room to write; take my writing-materials and these papers there for me," she ordered. "Of course I can see no one this evening."

The red glow was no longer seen outside the windows, but the brilliant light from the drawing-room gleamed over the tempest-swept avenue until long past midnight. The councillor was at one of the card-tables. Upon his entrance every one received him with a kindly greeting or a warm pressure of the hand, that fell like sunshine on his anxious, troubled heart. Here, among these faces, stamped with the pride of noble birth or official arrogance, his line of conduct seemed so perfectly justifiable that he could hardly understand the tormenting scruples that assailed him. Why expose one's self to hostile criticism when one is conscious of entire innocence even in thought? And then such a low affair altogether! All this delightful scandal which was now whispered about, these stories over which each noble guest was glad to throw "a silken mantle," concerned high-born errors; but what mercy could these people show to one among them, not legitimately of them, accused of a vulgar attempt to rob the castle miller's safe? He could, however, no longer console himself with the idea that his silence harmed no one: it threatened to sever two human souls united by a betrothal ring. Pshaw! Flora was an eccentric creature. The next time some special distinction was awarded to Bruck, which his great learning and ability made certain, matters would be all right again. And with a glass of delicious punch he drained down his last scruple.

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 R?mer, 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 R?mer 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 Fr?ulein 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 Fr?ulein 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 Fr?uleins 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. "Fr?ulein 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 medi?val 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 R?mer'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, Fr?ulein 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.