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.