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.
[CHAPTER III.]
The castle miller had in fact left his granddaughter, Katharina Mangold, his sole heiress, and confirmed as her guardian the man previously selected as such by her deceased father. This guardian was Councillor Römer, who, at the reading of the will, shook his head and pondered deeply upon the inconsistencies that exist in the human soul. The old man who had wellnigh throttled him under the influence of a mad suspicion that he was robbing him of his gold, had, scarcely an hour before, appointed him his executor, with almost limitless authority. He had provided that in case the operation about to be performed resulted in death, all his real estate, with the exception of the castle mill, should be sold. With regard to this exception, he declared that the mill had made him a wealthy man, and that his granddaughter, even although she came to be as "proud and haughty" as her step-sisters, had no need to be ashamed of bringing it to her future husband. The baronial estate to which it belonged was to be divided, and each portion—forest-land, farm-land, farm-buildings, meadows, and kitchen-gardens—sold singly to the highest bidder. As for the villa, with its surrounding park, it was to be sold likewise, and Councillor Römer was to be allowed to purchase it, if he wished to do so, at the rate of five thousand thalers less than its taxable value. These five thousand thalers were his, not only as some indemnification for his trouble as guardian, but in token of the "esteem" of the testator for a man who had never been haughty "like the rest of them at the villa," but more like a kind and even devoted relative. The will further provided that the whole property should be invested in government securities and other solid stock, the choice of which should be left entirely to the guardian, as a prudent and careful man of business.
The young heiress had lived for the past six years away from home. Her dying father had left her in charge to a Fräulein Lukas, who had been her governess always,—in fact, had supplied a mother's place to her. Herr Mangold saw plainly that his darling, who had held herself shyly aloof from the step-sisters so much her elders, must not be deprived of her governess's tender care, and had therefore provided that she should accompany Fräulein Lukas to Dresden, whither the latter removed shortly after her employer's death, and upon her marriage with a physician to whom she had long been betrothed. In the young girl's letters thence to her guardian she had never expressed a wish to revisit her home, nor had it ever occurred to her grandfather, the castle miller, to recall her. He had acquiesced willingly in her removal to Dresden, because the sight of her constantly renewed his grief for his daughter, the only being whom he had ever really loved. Now, after his death, the girl's guardian requested her to return, for some time at least, arranging at the same time to be her escort himself from Dresden as soon as the weather should become warmer, towards the end of April, since—this fact, however, he naturally suppressed—the Frau President Urach had protested against her being accompanied by the former governess. His ward had acceded to everything, and, upon his asking her further whether she had any personal wish with regard to the disposal of her property, had begged that when the castle mill was rented, the huge corner room and the recess with which it communicated might be reserved for her, and that everything in them might be left exactly as it had been during her grandfather's lifetime. This was done.
It was March, and a young girl was walking from town upon the highway, here and there bordered by neat cottages. She turned into the broad road leading to the castle mill. The traces of the last snow-storm had not entirely disappeared, the water had not dried in the broad ruts left by the wheels of the mill-wagons or in the deep footprints of the passers-by; but the young girl's little feet were encased in stout leather boots, and her black silk dress was so well caught up that there was no trace of mud upon its edge. She looked no elf or fairy as she walked on with a sure, elastic step. No; she was rather like some fair Alpine maid, with veins and sinews full of vigorous health, nourished by the pure breath of the mountain air and the sweet fresh milk of mountain-fed cows. A close black velvet jacket, trimmed with fur, showed the full, graceful outlines of bust and waist, and upon her brown hair sat, a little to one side, a cap of marten-skin. Her features were far from classically regular: the aquiline nose was too short for the width and shape of the brow, the mouth too large, the dimpled chin too strongly marked, the eyebrows not sufficiently delicate; but all these defects were more than atoned for by the pure oval of the whole face and the incomparable freshness and beauty of its colouring.
She turned into the open door of the court-yard of the castle mill, scattering before her a number of chickens assembled upon the wagon-road to pick up some scattered grains of wheat. They flew hither and thither with a loud cackling, and a couple of watch-dogs, roused from their lazy doze by the noise, barked furiously. How bright and golden the warm spring sunshine looked, flooding the walls of the grand old pile of masonry heaped up in ancient times beneath the eye of its noble builder! The day before yesterday the last thick icicle had fallen clattering from the open jaws of the lion's head at the end of the gutter on the roof, above which the air was now quivering with heat from the sun-baked slate. The sap was swelling in the big brown chestnut-buds, making them glisten as if powdered with diamond-dust; a couple of pots containing some languishing plants had been put outside of the window of one of the miller's rooms, to enjoy the first breath of spring; and upon the well-worn wooden steps leading from this very room was seated a dusty miller, eating a huge piece of bread-and-cheese.
"Moor! Watch! good dogs!" the young girl called across the yard in a coaxing voice. The dogs leaped about madly, whining as they tugged at their chains.
"What do you want?" asked the miller, rising clumsily.
She laughed gently. "I want nothing, Franz, except to say 'good-day' to Susie and yourself."
In an instant bread, cheese, and knife were thrown down on the ground. The man was not tall,—shorter than the young girl,—and he looked up speechless into the blooming face, which he had seen last belonging to a sickly child not tall enough to reach to his broad shoulders. She used to be called the "miller's mouse," and, swift and agile as any mouse, would follow him about the mill and granary for hours at a time; now she was mistress here, and he, the former foreman, her tenant. "Queer enough," he said, shaking his head in loutish wonder; "the eyes and the dimples in the cheeks are the same, but what a size she is!" And he measured her with shy, incredulous glances. "Aha, she gets it all from her Sommer grandmother; she was just such a white-and-red creature, and—— Be quiet, you rogues!" he interrupted himself, shaking his fist at the barking dogs. "The fellows really know you, madame."