Kitty left the tower and crossed the bridge. She leaned for a moment over the railing and looked down into the water, as if she half expected to see in its depths her old friends the dwarf fruit-trees and strawberry-vines,—but she saw only her own head, with its crown of thick brown braids. This girl, oddly enough, was the heiress of the family; she was reminded daily that as such she was distinguished and flattered, and she was repeatedly taught that she never should arrange these same brown braids herself, that a lady’s maid was indispensably necessary; but she opposed an energetic will to the Frau President’s admonitions; nothing should induce her to resign her head to the hands of an artiste, to sit solemn as some heathen idol for hours in her dressing-gown. Oh, yes, it was delightful indeed to be rich, but her wealth should not make a slave of her, should not fetter her warm, active, shapely hands.
She left behind her the pretty grounds around the ruin, and walked along the unfrequented path through the meadows upon the banks of the stream. Chilled by the melted snow from the mountains, that swelled it to a torrent, the little river rolled along, clay-coloured in hue; but the minnows showed here and there like flecks of molten silver, the soft, downy buds were thick upon the osiers, and beneath their protecting net-work the blue flowers of the hepatica were spreading everywhere,—it was easy to make a spring nosegay.
With a bunch of them in her hand, she sauntered on as far as the ancient wooden bridge. There was Susie’s old bleaching-ground, the meadow, planted with fruit-trees. The councillor had spoken truly; the low picket fence that enclosed the garden was in perfect repair, and everything about the house, from the old tiled roof to the latticed arbour for the grapevines, was in thorough order. And it was really a charming old house, the despised "barracks." It was situated in a very retired spot on the banks of the river, and the leafy grove behind it, on the other side of the fence, gave it the character of a woodland cottage. Its exterior was not imposing, to be sure; it had only one row of windows, directly above which arose the roof with its gilded weather-cock and massive chimneys, one of which was actually smoking,—an incredible sight. It was long indeed since a fire had been kindled on that hearth or a lamp lighted within those walls. During the lifetime of the castle miller it had been used as a store-house for grain; the shutters had always been closed, and the door of entrance locked, except during harvest. At that time, little Kitty used to slip into what was called the fruit-room, an apartment adjoining the kitchen, with whitewashed walls and a large green stove, and fill her apron with rosy-cheeked apples and mellow pears. To-day, the shutters were wide open, and the young girl saw for the first time in her life the glitter of the panes of glass in the large windows. It was now Doctor Bruck’s home.