Theborahad been blowing all day long with a violence that would have seemed dangerous to a dweller in the lowlands, but which attracted no special attention here. On the rocky heights of the Karst the mountaineers were familiar with tempests that brought destruction to every living thing in their path, and often hurled horse and rider over a precipice. To-day the wind had roared over the earth and howled fiercely above it, but it was at least possible to remain out of doors and even move forward. The air was dry, the sky clear, and the landscape was illumined by the bright moonlight.
In one of the funnel-shaped ravines that intersect the rocky ridges of the Karst in every direction, was a so-called "village," a mere handful of huts, rudely built of stone, which only afforded shelter from the weather, and scarcely resembled human habitations. Somewhat higher up, almost at the edge of the ravine, but still within the protection of the rocks, stood a somewhat larger building, the only one that deserved the name of house. It was firmly built, had a door and windows, and was divided inside into several separate rooms. The first and largest of these apartments seemed to be used as a common living-room by the occupants. A huge fire was blazing on the hearth and illumined the bare, smoke-blackened walls, whose sole ornaments, a crucifix and an image of a saint, showed that the inhabitants were Christians. The furniture, though clumsy and roughly made, was better than is usually found in this region, and several wooden chests in the corners, apparently well filled, also indicated that the owner of the dwelling was one of the rich and distinguished men in the tribe.
True, the weapons generally seen on the walls of every hut were absent, like the arms that wielded them. The men belonging to the village, who were capable of bearing arms, were now away at the scene of war or camped in inaccessible ravines and narrow passes. Sometimes they secretly returned to their homes, which stood open to the troops--they were well aware that the women and children left behind had nothing to fear from the soldiery.
Upon the wooden table stood the remnants of a simple meal, and a young woman was engaged in cleaning the pot in which she had prepared it. She did her work swiftly and silently, without joining even by a syllable in the conversation of the two men who stood by the hearth.
Both were young, and true sons of their country, slender, brown and supple, but their dress and whole appearance showed traces of the long months of conflict through which they had passed. The elder, who had sharp, eagle-like features, and a face as hard and rigid as the rocks of his home, was gazing gloomily with frowning brow into the fire. His companion, who was several years his junior, also looked grave and gloomy, but his face lacked the former's iron sternness. Neither had laid aside his weapons; they wore swords at their sides and knives thrust into their girdles, while their guns leaned against the wall close by within their reach.
"I expected to hear better news from you," said the elder, angrily. "Another defeat! Was not your force superior?"
"Only at first, the enemy received reinforcements, and my men have long been disheartened. You will not see, Marco, that we are constantly being forced back, more and more closely surrounded. We are the only ones who still hold out--for how long?"
"Do you want to sue for mercy?" cried Marco, furiously. "Will you give your hand to those who killed your father, as well as mine? If you can forget that you are Hersovac's son--my name is Obrevic. And the man to whom I owe my imprisonment and my father's death is still unharmed."
"It was he who brought the foe aid to-day," said young Hersovac. "I recognized him during the fight. You will not touch him, he has protected himself by witchcraft."
"One might believe so!" muttered Marco. "He is no coward, he is always in the front of the fray. How often I have sought him there, how often he was to have been betrayed into my hands by stratagem. Others, the wrong ones, were always struck and he escaped. But he is still within our frontiers, and I have set snares for him at every step. If he once separates from his comrades he is mine!"
He seized a log of wood from the pile and flung it on the fire so that the sparks flew in every direction; it was an expression of his suppressed fury. Then he asked in a curt, sharp tone:
"Where is Danira? Doesn't she know that I am here?"
"Yes, but she refuses to come in."
"Compel her, then!" said Marco, roughly.
"Compel Danira? You do not know my sister."
"I would compel her, and I will, as soon as she is mine; rely upon that. Call her in."
The command sounded very imperious, but Stephan Hersovac obeyed. He was still very young, and apparently not equal to the position circumstances had forced upon him.
Only the elder of the sons of the two fallen leaders seemed capable of taking his father's place, yet they had grown up together like brothers in the house of Joan Obrevic after the latter brought his dead friend's son home. But, even in those days, the energetic Marco exerted authority over his younger and more yielding friend. Stephan was accustomed to submit to him, and did so absolutely, now that he stood at the head of the tribe.
After a few minutes Danira appeared. She, too, wore the costume of the country, yet even here in her home there was something foreign in her aspect. She had nothing at all in common with the women of her race, the timid, humble creatures born and reared to subjection. There was a cold pride in her bearing as she approached Marco and bent her head, as though his imperious summons had been a petition, and she had granted it.
Obrevic must have received this impression, for his eyes glowed with a fervent, passionate admiration, although his voice remained cold and harsh, as he asked:
"Can you not greet the guest who comes to your brother's hearth, or don't you wish to do so?"
"Did you miss my greeting?" was the cool reply. "You only came to hold a conference with Stephan, and your meal was already provided."
"No matter! It is seemly for you to welcome the man to whom your brother has promised your hand. You have long known that."
"And you know that I do not recognize this promise. I have never given you mine."
"Among us a woman has no will," replied Marco, imperiously. "Your brother is now the head of the house. He has a right to dispose of you, and will compel you to obey--he or I!"
"Try it!"
The two words were spoken with perfect calmness, but such unyielding resolution that Marco stamped his foot furiously.
"Have you learned defiance among the people down below? You have now returned to us, and none of the follies they taught you suit this place."
"You are mistaken. I have left everything there--." The girl's voice trembled for a moment. Then she repeated, with passionate, almost angry emphasis: "Everything. Ask my brother whether I shrink from the labor of which I was ignorant, whether I refuse to do what is imposed upon me. I ask only one thing--to be free! And I shall not be, if I belong to a husband. I did not fly from captivity to enter slavery, and with you a wife is a slave."
Her eyes wandered with a half pitying, half scornful glance toward her brother's wife, who, still busied with her work, crouched beside the hearth; spite of her youth and beauty the stamp of servitude was plainly visible. Scarcely as old as Danira, she was already worn by the hard burden of toil that rested almost entirely upon her shoulders. She had prepared the meal, and waited on the men without receiving the slightest notice from them. Even in her husband's presence she showed nothing but timid shyness and submission, and now gazed with actual horror at the girl who ventured to say such things to a man. Her whole appearance and bearing formed a convincing proof of the truth of Danira's words, and this exasperated the fierce Obrevic.
"Do you want to teach us foreign customs?" he furiously exclaimed. "With us the husband is the only person of importance, and what our wives have been they will remain."
Danira drew herself up proudly, her eyes flashed, and with passionate pride she retorted:
"But I am not like your women, and never will be--that is the very reason I will belong to none of you."
Her defiance irritated Marco, but at the same time produced an impression upon him, for it contained a shade of his own unbridled, unbending will. His hand was still clenched, but as his eyes rested on the beautiful face, glowing with excitement, he murmured:
"No, you are different--that is why I cannot give you up."
A pause ensued; Danira stooped and began to put fresh fuel on the dying fire. Her hands showed that she had learned to work and did not spare herself, but every movement was full of grace and power.
Marco silently watched her, and suddenly advancing a step nearer seized the girl's arm, asking in an abrupt, vehement tone:
"Why do you scorn my suit? I am the chief, the richest man in the tribe, even richer than your brother. You need not labor like the other women, you shall be no slave in my house--no, Danira, I promise you!"
There was a strange blending of sullen menace and ardent passion in the words, nay, even an accent of entreaty in the promise. It was evident that the rude son of the mountains was completely under the thrall of a feeling experienced for the first time, and which subdued his masculine obstinacy. He pleaded where, in his opinion, he was entitled to demand, but Danira with quiet decision released her arm.
"You cannot act contrary to your nature, Marco, even if you wished. You must rule and oppress, and when angered you know no limits. You bend even my brother absolutely to your will; what would be your wife's fate? And is this a time to think of marriage? Stephan has just told you what has happened; he has been defeated."
"For the third time! By all the saints, I would not have allowed myself to be routed, but Stephan is no leader--never has been."
"My brother is still very young," replied Danira. "He lacks experience, not courage, and can do nothing for a lost cause, for--whether you admit it or not--our cause is lost. You alone still hold out, but you cannot accomplish what is impossible."
"Silence!" cried Obrevic in a fierce outbreak of wrath. "What do you know about it? Has Stephan already infected you with his cowardice? He talks of submission, and you----"
"Not I!" Danira interrupted. "I can understand that you must conquer or fall. I wish I could die with you, if it comes to that. Destruction is no disgrace--but there is shame in submission."
The words had a ring of iron resolution which showed that the girl was quite capable of verifying them if matters proceeded to extremes. Marco felt this, for without averting his gaze from her face he said slowly:
"You ought to have been the man and Stephan the woman. You have inherited your father's blood--he did not."
He held out his hand and clasped hers with a firm pressure, such as was usually exchanged only between men. Danira had compelled him to recognize her as his equal. The clasp of the hand acknowledged it.
"You are right," he continued. "This is no time to think of marriage, we have better things to do. But when the time comes--and come it will--you shall be mine, Danira, I have sworn it and will keep my vow."
The light of passion again glowed in his eyes, but the young girl was spared a reply, for Stephan entered and the two men began to equip themselves for departure. The farewell was brief and laconic. These rude sons of the mountains were fully capable of passions but mere emotions where wholly alien to their natures.
Even Stephan did not think of taking any warmer leave of his young wife, who approached to hand him his gun, yet they had been only a few months wedded, and the two men might expect death at any hour. Marco, in the act of departure, turned once more to Danira with the question:
"Were there any soldiers in the village this morning?"
"Yes, but they only rested a short time, and marched on scarcely an hour after."
"Others will probably come to-night or early tomorrow. They are seeking us, as they have so often done, and will not find us unless we wish to be found. If they ask, put them on a false trail."
The young girl shook her head. "You know I cannot lie. And they never ask, they know we will not betray our people--Stephan is to join you with his men?"
"Yes, at once, that we may be united in the next attack. Farewell!"
The two men went out and ascended to the top of the ravine. Their dark figures were visible for a time, making their way vigorously against the gale, then they vanished and the village lay silent and desolate, apparently wrapped in slumber, as before.
Stephan Hersovac's house was also silent, but Danira still sat by the hearth, constantly putting fresh logs upon the dying fire, as if she dreaded darkness and sleep. Her sister-in-law had already gone to rest. She did not understand how any one could shorten or wholly resign the only solace of a toilsome life, slumber, and had nothing to think about, so she was sound asleep in the dark room adjoining.
The young girl had closed the door leading to it, in order to be entirely alone, and was now gazing fixedly into the flames. Without the tempest raved, and within the fire snapped and crackled, but Danira saw and heard nothing. She was dreaming, dreaming with her burning eyes wide open, and from the floating smoke appeared visions far, far removed from the darkness and solitude of the hour--a wide, wide landscape, flooded with golden sunshine, and overarched by a deep-blue sky, towering mountain peaks, shimmering waves, and in the distance a surging sea, veiled by the mists of morning!
Above the whole scene hovered a face, looking down upon her with stern severity, bitter reproach, as in that hour on the rocky height, that hour which had decided the fate of two human beings.
They had not seen each other since, and to separation was added enmity, for the two parties to which they belonged now confronted each other in mortal strife. And yet--the visionary face began to lose its harsh expression, softened more and more, until finally it disappeared, and only two clear eyes gazed forth from the drifting wreaths of smoke, the bright, clear eyes of Gerald von Steinach, no longer full of hate and enmity, but instinct with that one emotion which had awaked in that hour never to die again.
Just at that moment one of the glowing logs broke and others fell, sending out a shower of sparks. Danira started and looked up. The dream still absorbed her so completely that she needed several seconds to recall where she was, but her surroundings soon brought her back to reality. Yes, this close, gloomy room, with its bare walls and wretched household furniture, its smoky, stifling atmosphere--this was the home for which she had longed since childhood, and this life, spent day after day in hard, common toil, destitute of every intellectual element, was the freedom of which she had dreamed.
The commandant's adopted daughter, who had been surrounded in his house with all the requisites of luxury and culture, now learned to know what she had given up and what she had obtained in exchange. Obrevic had told the truth. Here the man was the only person of importance, and the idea of freedom, fierce and unbridled as it might be, existed for him alone; the wife was merely the best piece of furniture in the house, the beast of burden who bore the labors of the home, and always trembled in slavish fear of her stern master. So the custom of the tribe required, and to this custom all who belonged to it must bow.
No matter, she had chosen her own fate, and Danira's resolute will repressed the loathing she felt for these surroundings and this treatment, which she had endured without complaint; but now the worst came. She was sought in marriage by a man with whose rudeness and fierceness she was sufficiently familiar, and thereby the last remnant of independence was lost. Marco's ardent passion still gave her power over him. He still yielded to the influence of a higher nature, and was charmed and allured by what was refused, but only so long as it continued to be denied. When once his property, the old tyranny would assert its rights, and his wife would have no better lot than the other women of her race. Sooner or later she would be forced to choose between accepting him for her husband or quitting her brother's house, for the latter, incited and irritated by his friend, would undoubtedly try this means of subduing her will. Then she would be thrust out by her kindred, for whom she had sacrificed everything, homeless here as well as there!
Danira had started up, and was pacing to and fro in the narrow space, as though pursued by torturing thoughts. Her movements grew more and more impetuous, her bosom heaved passionately, and she suddenly sank down before the crucifix and pressed her burning brow against the cold wall. The prayer that rose to heaven was fervent and despairing, though silent; a prayer for deliverance, for release from the fetters that constantly encircled her more closely. She must sink under them, unless rescue came.
Meantime, theborawas blowing outside with undiminished violence, and the two figures that now appeared on the edge of the ravine had great difficulty in making a stand against it. The moonlight showed that both men wore the Austrian uniform. They had moved forward as fast as the gale permitted, but now stopped, and were evidently trying to examine their surroundings.
"I don't know, Herr Lieutenant--the story doesn't seem to me exactly straight," said one. "The place down yonder is as dark and silent as if every human being in it were dead. Are you really going into it?"
It was George Moosbach's voice, and the reply came from the lips of Gerald von Steinach, who, in his usual quiet, resolute manner, said:
"Of course I am, for this is evidently the right place. It is the village our troops entered this morning. I recognize it distinctly from the description."
"But there isn't a mouse moving below, far less an Imperial Chasseur. We must have been already seen, yet no one has challenged us."
"I, too, noticed the absence of sentinels. I fear our men must have been forced to retreat, leaving the wounded officer in charge of the necessary escort. The message to me was all right at any rate, for the shepherd had brought, as his credentials, Salten's portfolio containing his notes."
"But it's queer that he wanted to speak to you in particular," George persisted. "I stick to it, I don't like the looks of the business, still less those of the ragged lad who acted as messenger. He had the face of a knave. If only there isn't some piece of deviltry in it!"
"You see mischief and snares everywhere," replied Gerald, impatiently, as he prepared to descend into the ravine. "Am I to refuse the request of a severely wounded comrade, who wants to see me and perhaps has a last commission to give? To be sure it would have been more agreeable to me to have taken the peril as well as the responsibility of this errand on myself alone."
"But not to me," replied George. "If our lives are at stake I would far rather be here, and it will come to that. That confounded boy has vanished as though the earth had swallowed him. It's the way with all these savages! The whole tribe is in league with witches."
"The lad has run on before to announce our arrival," said the young officer, who appeared to have no thought of danger. "He forgot to tell us the direction, so we must find the way ourselves. Yonder house seems to me to be the only one at all suitable for the reception of a wounded officer. We will go there first."
"Thank God, a man can at least breathe here!" muttered George, who had just gained the shelter of the rocks. "If they call this a 'little'bora, I'd like to see a big one. I wish it would sweep this Krivoscia off the face of the earth and us back to Tyrol."
Meantime Gerald had approached the house, through whose closed shutters a faint ray of light was shining. The gale which had prevented his footsteps from being heard also drowned his knock, and as no answer came from within, the officer pushed the door open and entered.
The fire, still blazing brightly on the hearth, threw its glare full upon the newcomers, clearly revealing their figures, but at the same time dazzled them so that, for a moment, they could see nothing distinctly and did not even notice the woman kneeling in the shadow of the wall.
Danira started and tried to rise, but her limbs seemed to refuse their service. Motionless, she gazed with dilated eyes upon the vision which appeared before her from the storm and darkness outside, as though her own thoughts had assumed form and substance. Not until Gerald advanced did she become conscious of the reality of his presence. A half stifled cry escaped her lips. This sudden, unexpected meeting tore the veil from the girl's soul, and she called the name never before uttered:
"Gerald!"
"Danira!" came the answer in a tone of such passionate joy that George, who had entered behind his lieutenant, hastened to his side, murmuring under his breath in an accent of horror:
"May all good spirits guard us! There's the witch!"
An instant's pause followed. Danira was the first who tried to regain her self-command, though it was only an attempt.
"Herr von Steinach! I thought--I did not expect to see you again."
"And I did not suspect that you lived in this house," said Gerald, to whom George's movement had also restored composure, for it reminded him that this interview must have no witnesses. He therefore turned, saying with forced calmness:
"This young lady will be the best person to give me the information we desire. Wait outside the door till I call you."
George knew the meaning of subordination and was accustomed to obey his lieutenant implicitly, but this time every fibre of his being rebelled against discipline. In his eyes Gerald was bewitched; and therefore wholly incapable of sound judgment as soon as the witchcraft came into play. To leave him with the cause of all the mischief was resigning him to destruction.
As a Christian and a Tyrolese George felt it his duty to protect him from a danger far worse than those which imperilled life and limb, for here the soul's salvation was at stake. So he drew himself up, raised his hand to his cap and said respectfully:
"By your leave, Herr Lieutenant, I will stay."
Gerald frowned and looked at him--it was only one glance, but the young Tyrolese had remembered the threatening flash from the hour he had attempted to obtain an insight into the affair of mingled love and witchcraft, and all inclination for further resistance instantly vanished. As Gerald, without a word, pointed with a quiet, imperious wave of the hand to the door, George, though still far from having conquered his alarm, found it advisable to obey, but once outside he clasped his hands in a hurried prayer.
"Saint George and all the saints aid him! She has got him now--may the Lord have mercy upon him!"
The two who remained behind were alone--they still confronted each other in silence, but Gerald's eyes rested as if spellbound upon the young girl, who had slowly risen and advanced into the circle of light cast by the fire. The ruddy glow made her figure stand out in relief against the dark background like a picture, a picture that certainly did not suit the frame of this small, gloomy room.
Danira's beauty was fully displayed for the first time, now that she wore the costume of the country, whose picturesque cut and coloring seemed to have been created especially for her. The braids of black hair fell unconfined in all their weight and luxuriance, and her whole bearing was free, fetterless and haughty, as though relieved from the burden of a dependence that had oppressed her for years, released from the bonds of the gratitude reason imposed upon her, but against which her heart continually rebelled. It was the daughter of the fallen chief who had already conquered a moment's self-forgetfulness, and now, with all the pride of her blood and lineage, faced the man whom she again regarded as the enemy of her people.
"I believe, Herr von Steinach, that the circumstances of our parting were too peculiar for us to greet this meeting with pleasure," she said at last. It was the old icy tone, specially intended to efface that one unguarded moment, and it partially accomplished its purpose.
The young officer's manner also grew colder and more formal as he replied:
"Then you must reproach accident, not me, for this interview. I repeat I had no suspicion who lived in this house. Only duty called me here."
"I do not doubt it. We are accustomed to see troops in our homes, though they find only women and children to combat."
"Who are fearlessly left behind because it is well known that we do not attack the defenseless. True, we have the men to deal with only when they assail us from some safe ambush."
"We are at war," said Danira curtly. "Any advantage is allowable in warfare."
"And who forced this war upon us? We did not seek it, but the enforcement of a law was at stake, a law we could not resign and which is recognized throughout the whole vast empire. Your tribe is the only one that refuses to obey it."
"Because the free sons of the mountains cannot and will not bow to the yoke. You will try in vain to subdue them."
The words had a sharper sting than was necessary, for a dark flush, the token of ill-repressed excitement, had long since crimsoned the young officer's brow, and his answer was cutting in its sharpness.
"We regard military service as an honor, not a yoke. At least it is a duty. Of course the idea of duty does not enter into the unbridled caprice your people call liberty; it must first be taught. But, rely upon it, Fräulein, we shall teach it yet. I may be permitted to suppose that you are informed of the last events of the campaign, and know that the fate of the insurrection is already decided."
Danira, of course, knew this, she had even spoken of it to Marco an hour before, but nothing in the world would have induced her to admit it to this man, so with the courage of despair she answered:
"Do not triumph too soon! Marco Obrevic still holds out, and with him the bravest of our people. They can die, but they will not surrender."
Gerald started at the name; a strangely gloomy, searching glance rested on the young girl.
"Marco Obrevic!" he repeated. "So you know him--very well?"
"He is my brother's friend."
"And owes you his freedom--for the plan of escape was doubtless your work?"
"At least I had a share in it. True, Marco's liberty was purchased at a high price, it cost him his father and our tribe a chief. Joan Obrevic fell by your bullet."
"I did my duty, and besides, the fugitives fired at me first. I will repeat the words you just uttered: we are at war."
Reproach and retort sounded equally bitter and hostile, and the manner of both was as rigid and implacable as if they were really mortal foes, yet their eyes spoke a very different language from that of hate. Gerald could not avert his gaze from the beautiful, hostile face; he had forgotten everything else, even the summons of his wounded comrade, and only sought the eyes which shunned his, yet as though attracted by some magnetic power, constantly returned to them.
"I do not reproach you for that accident," said Danira, and for the first time her tone sounded more gentle. "But you too have doubtless now recalled the charge you hurled at me then with such scathing fury. The purpose for which I used my knowledge of the place and circumstances was only to effect Obrevic's escape. My people called upon me to do it, and summoned me to return to them--they had a right to ask both."
"If you admit the right--certainly. Only it is strange that your kindred left you so long in the home and under the charge of an alien, that they did not inquire about you once during all those years. Not until they needed you did they find the way to reach you, though, according to appearances, it was so easily discovered. Up to that time your relatives had forgotten you and did not know whether you were alive or dead."
The taunt struck home; Danira's haughty head drooped. It was needless to tell her that she had been only a means to an end--she had known it long before. Gerald advanced a step nearer, and his voice also lost its icy tone as he continued:
"No matter, you have made your choice and returned to your home--are you happy?"
"I am free! That is all I ask."
"And how long will you remain so? During our expeditions I have gained an insight into the customs of the country and know the fate to which they condemn women. As soon as you marry, this lot will be yours. Is it possible that a high-spirited girl, with this energetic will and ardent desire for freedom, can endure to be, not the companion, but the slave of a rough, fierce man, who does not even know the name of intellectual needs and will pitilessly trample upon every higher emotion, because he values only the capacity for work she shares with his domestic animals, who daily----"
"Stop--that is not true!" Danira vehemently interrupted, for she felt whom he was describing, though no name was spoken. But the young officer did not allow himself to be checked, and added with marked emphasis:
"It is true, and of this truth you will perish. Deny it as you will, the charm with which your imagination invested your home has vanished, must have vanished at the moment when you beheld the reality, and the chasm which formerly apparently divided you from us, yawned a gigantic abyss on the other side. You can no longer descend to these people with their brutal customs. You are ours; in every thought and feeling you belong to us, but you have all the defiance of your race, which will bleed and die rather than submit to a higher law."
He had spoken with increasing excitement, and Danira no longer tried to interrupt him; these were her own thoughts, her own dread which had just forced themselves upon her with such annihilating power. Word after word fell from his lips as if he had been listening to her; she could no longer deny their truth, nay, did not wish to do so.
She slowly raised her head, but a dark fire was glowing in her eyes. Gerald could not help thinking again of the tempestuous night illumined by flashes of lightning. His pitiless words had, roused, with the young girl's pride, all her former energy; she drew herself up to her full height.
"Perhaps you are right! Well, then, I am a daughter of my race and can bleed and die--I cannot submit. If my birth and my education brought me into perpetual conflict with myself, I have solved it by returning here, and this decision is to me irrevocable. I cannot have only half my heart here as well as there; I have made my choice, and if it costs me happiness and life, be it so, I will die by it."
There was such unyielding resolution in the words that Gerald did not even attempt a reply. He gazed silently at the young girl, who stood before him so pale and gloomy; then his eyes wandered slowly around the squalid room, with its smoking fire and smoke-blackened walls, and a vague presentiment stole over him that this external and internal conflict could end only with life.
"So I am to part from you as a foe, for I still remain one in your eyes," he said at last. "Danira, have you really no other word of farewell for me?"
An expression of passionate grief flashed into the girl's face for one moment, but she quickly repressed the gentler emotion, and the next moment her features revealed nothing but iron harshness and cold aversion.
"I fear, Herr von Steinach, that I have already detained you too long from your 'duty.' I must remind you of it, apparently. You have doubtless come to occupy the village with your men. We have no arms against superior numbers; the house is open!"
Gerald stepped back. The sharp admonition showed him that any attempt at conciliation would be vain, and he, too, could be proud to sternness.
"You are mistaken, Fräulein," he replied. "I do not come on military duty. I am in search of a wounded comrade here in the hamlet, whom I expected to find in this house. At any rate, I beg you to give me news of him."
"A wounded officer? There is some misunderstanding. No Austrian is here."
"But our troops occupied the village this morning. We have positive news of that."
"Yes, but in less than an hour they left it and marched on."
"And the wounded man?"
"They left no one behind, and had no wounded with them. See for yourself; there are none of your men in the village."
At this moment the door opened and George appeared, but, mindful of the rebuff just received, he paused on the threshold, saying:
"Herr Lieutenant, I only wanted to report that this business looks worse and worse. There is not a sentinel, not a comrade to be seen in the whole accursed den. Our rascally guide has made off, and here in this house"--he darted an extremely hostile glance at Danira--"here the witchcraft is doubtless in full swing. Don't send me away again, Herr Lieutenant; it is better for us two to keep together if trouble comes."
Danira suddenly started, and a look of mortal terror rested on Gerald as she repeated:
"Us two? For Heaven's sake! Herr von Steinach, you are here at the head of your men, or at least you have a sufficient escort?"
"No; I am alone with George, as you see."
The girl turned deadly pale.
"And you venture thus into a hostile place? At night? This is more than foolhardy."
"I expected to find our men here, and the message was so positive, so unequivocal----"
"Who brought it? Were you the only person summoned? Where is the guide? Did you notice nothing suspicious on the way?"
The questions succeeded each other in such breathless, anxious haste that Gerald at last began to understand the gravity of the situation. His hand involuntarily grasped the hilt of his sword more firmly as he replied:
"The summons was to me only, and I should have obeyed it alone had not George insisted upon accompanying me. We were not attacked on the way. Nothing occurred to rouse our suspicions except the mysterious disappearance of our guide, but he brought me trustworthy credentials, my comrade's portfolio and notes."
"That proves nothing. They may have been stolen, taken from a dead body. The whole story is a falsehood, a device to lure you here."
"But who can have any interest in bringing me----" Gerald began, but Danira passionately interrupted:--
"Do you ask that question? Marco Obrevic has sworn vengeance upon you! He will keep his vow--you are lost!"
The young officer turned pale. The words suddenly revealed the terrible danger impending. But George, with a sort of agreeable horror, remarked:--
"Didn't I say so? Now we're in the trap."
Gerald needed but an instant to regain his composure. He drew himself up to his full height, and the red flush of anger crimsoned his face.
"A shameful plot! Well, then, we must defend ourselves to the last breath. We will sell our lives dearly, George. The assassins won't find it so easy to destroy us."
"I'll take care of a few of them!" cried George, in whom wrath had now gained the upper hand. "Just let the murderous rabble come! My lieutenant and I will fight the whole band."
"No, no; here any resistance would be vain," replied Danira. "If Marco comes he will come with ten times your number, and fighting would be impossible. You would be dragged down, overpowered, and then the living----"
She did not finish the sentence, but paused with a shudder, which the two men, who knew how the war was conducted on the part of the natives, could easily interpret.
"No matter, we will fight," said Gerald, resolutely. "Let us get out of doors, George. There will be more chance there, and perhaps we may be able to force our way back."
He turned toward the door, but Danira barred his way.
"Impossible! You will go to certain death. Marco does nothing by halves. He already knows that you have obeyed the summons, and has barricaded your way in every direction. There is but one path of escape, at least for the moment."
She hurried through the room, hastily and softly opened the door of the dark ante-chamber where her sister-in-law slept, and listened a few moments to the deep, regular breathing of the young wife, who had not been roused by the strangers' arrival. The whistling and howling of theborahad completely drowned the conversation.
Danira softly closed the door, and returned to Gerald's side.
"Will you follow me and trust me--trust me absolutely?"
Gerald's eyes met those of the young girl who, but a few minutes before, had confronted him with such rigid, unyielding sternness, yet had seemed completely transformed from the instant that danger threatened him. He saw the entreaty in the large dark eyes, and in the midst of hostility and mortal peril the glance fell like a ray of sunshine on the young man's soul. He knew now for whom she was anxious.
"I will follow you, though it should be to death!" he said, extending his hand.
"Herr Lieutenant!" cried George, fairly frantic with fear, for he was firmly convinced that this blind confidence would lead Gerald straight to destruction.
"Be silent and obey," Gerald ordered. "Yet I will not force you to follow. Stay behind, if you choose."
"I'll go with you," said the brave fellow, whose love for his officer was even greater than his superstition. "Where you are, I'll be also, and if you can't help it and must go straight into the witches' caldron--why, go, in God's name, and I'll go too."
Gerald loosed his sword in its sheath and examined his pistols; then they left the house and the young officer unconsciously drew a long, deep breath as they emerged from the small, close room, with its smoking fire and stifling atmosphere. Outside, storm, darkness and mortal peril surrounded his every step, but for the first time he felt Danira's hand in his, and climbed by her side to the edge of the ravine.
For nearly half an hour the little group pressed forward in a direction exactly opposite to the one by which Gerald had come to the village. Danira led the way and the others followed, but scarcely a word was exchanged, for all three had great difficulty in breasting the storm, which grew more violent every moment.
Yet this tempest was not like those that raged in the mountains of their native Tyrol, with hurrying clouds, mists, and showers of rain that wrapped the earth in their veil, where the forests shuddered and trembled, and the uproar of the elements seemed to transform all nature into chaos. Here no cloud dimmed the clear azure of the sky, in which the stars were shining brightly, and the moonlight rested clear and radiant on the rocky heights, stretching into infinite distance, rugged and cleft into a thousand rifts that intersected them in every direction; but the white moonbeams and the deep black shadows of the chasms everywhere revealed the same desolation.
Here no forest rustled, no reed quivered in the wind. The hurricane roared over the earth as if the spirits of destruction had been let loose and were now sweeping on in search of their prey, but its might was baffled by the cold, lifeless stone that could neither be stirred nor shaken.
There was something uncanny and terrible in this rigid repose amidst the fierce raging of the tempest, it seemed as though all nature was spell-bound in a death-slumber which nothing could break. Wildly as theboraraved, the earth made no response, it remained under the icy ban.
Again the trio pressed on through hurricane and moonlight, still farther into the wilderness. It seemed to the men as though they must long since have lost their way and there was no escape from this desert where one ridge rose beyond another in perpetual, horrible monotony, but Danira walked on undisturbed without once hesitating. At last she stopped and turned.
"We have reached our goal," she said, pointing down into the depths below. "There is the Vila spring."
Gerald paused to take breath, and his eyes wandered in the direction indicated. The ground suddenly sloped sheer down and he saw at his feet a chasm, close by a huge, projecting rock. It was a strange formation of stone, towering upward in broad massive outlines, curiously jagged at the top, the peak inclined so far forward that it looked as if it must break off and fall. Beyond this gateway the ravine appeared to widen, for they saw the moonlight glitter on some rippling water.
"Must we go down there?" George asked his lieutenant, doubtfully, in a low tone. "The rock hangs over like one of our bunches of ripe grapes at home. I believe it will drop on our heads as soon as we come near it. Everything in Krivoscia is spiteful, even the stones."
"The rock will not fall," replied Danira, who had heard the words, "it has hung so for centuries, and no storm has ever shaken it. Follow us."
She had already descended and Gerald followed without hesitation. They both passed the rock gateway and George could not help joining them. He cast one more suspicious glance upward; for he had become accustomed to regard everything in this country as a personal foe, but the rocky peak, by way of exception, showed no disposition to molest him, and remained quietly in its threatening attitude.
The distance was not very great. In a few minutes both reached the bottom of the cliffs and stood in a ravine which widened rapidly above, but was accessible only through the rock gateway. Here too flowed the water they had seen above, one of the little streams which often burst suddenly out of the rocky soil of the Karst and in a short time as suddenly vanish again. Even here the water preserved its beneficent power, for fresh grass was growing around it, thin and scanty, it is true, but a sign of life amid this petrified nature, and there was life also in the clear waves which, with a low ripple and murmur, made a channel down the ravine.
Danira, with a sigh of relief, leaned against the cliff. The exhaustion of the rapid walk or excitement had made the girl tremble from head to foot, and she really seemed to need the support.
"We have reached the spot," she said, softly. "Here you are safe."
Gerald, who meantime had scanned the surroundings, shook his head doubtfully.
"The safety will last only until our place of refuge is discovered, and that will soon be done. Obrevic knows every defile as well as you, as soon as he has searched the village he will follow on our track without delay."
"Certainly. But he will halt before that rock gateway, he will not enter the precincts of the Vila spring, for then he would be obliged to give you his hand in friendship; that hand cannot be raised against you here. Fierce and revengeful as Marco may be, even he will not dare to break the spell of peace that rests upon this spot."
The young officer started and again cast a searching glance around the ravine.
"So that is why you brought us here? But what protects this place which is to shield us?"
"I do not know. Legend, tradition, superstition probably wove the spell centuries ago--enough that the charm still exists in all its ancient power. Even in my childhood I knew of the Vila spring and its spell of peace. Afterward, when far away, the memory sometimes came back to me like a half-forgotten legend that belonged to the realm of fairy-land. Since my return I have known that the tale contains a saving truth. The spring is more sacred than the threshold of any church. Here even the murderer, the betrayer is safe. Here, the vendetta itself, that terrible family law of our people, must pause. No one has yet dared to violate the charm, and if any one tried it, he would be outlawed by all the members of the tribe."
"And you believe that this spell will guard even the foreigner, the foe?"
"Yes."
The answer was so firm that Gerald made no objection, though he doubted it.
"One mystery more in this mysterious land!" he said, slowly. "We will wait to see how it will be solved for us. We were treacherously lured into an ambush, and stand alone against a horde of enemies, so it will be no cowardice to trust ourselves to such protection."
He looked around him for George, who had instantly taken the practical side of the affair, and carefully and thoroughly searched the whole ravine. Finding nothing suspicious, he had climbed a large boulder, and stationed himself at a point from which he could watch at the same time the entrance and his lieutenant, for he still dreaded some piece of witchcraft from Danira. Unfortunately, he could not hear what was passing between the pair. The wind was blowing too violently; but he could at least keep them in view. So he stood at his post firm and fearless, ready to defend himself like a man and a soldier against any intruding foe, and at the same time come to his lieutenant's aid with his whole stock of Christianity in case the latter should be treacherously seized by the Evil One from behind--the brave fellow feared neither death nor devil.
Gerald had approached Danira, who still leaned against the cliff, but she drew back. The mute gesture was so resolute in its denial that he dared not advance nearer. The deliverance she had bestowed only seemed to have raised one more barrier between them. He felt this, and fixed a reproachful glance upon her as he retired.
Danira either did not or would not see it, although the moonlight clearly illumined the features of both. Hastily, as though to anticipate any warmer words, she asked:
"Where are your men?"
"At the fort. We returned there after the expedition of the morning, and the troops to whom we brought assistance with us."
"And nothing is known of your danger?
"On the contrary, I am supposed to be in perfect safety. The shameful plot was so cleverly devised. A dying comrade, who wished to place a last commission in my hands, his portfolio as a credential. The village we all thought still occupied by our men named. Obrevic was cautious enough, though it would have been more manly to have sought me in open battle, I certainly did not shun him. He preferred to act like an assassin, though he calls himself a warrior and a chief."
Danira's brow darkened, but she gently shook her head.
"You reckon with your ideas of honor. Here it is different, only the act is important; no account is taken of the means. Joan Obrevic fell by your hand, and his son must avenge him; that is the law of the race. How, Marco does not ask; he knows but one purpose, the destruction of his foe; and, if he cannot accomplish it in open warfare, he resorts to stratagem. I heard the vow he made when we entered our native mountains on the morning after his escape, and he will fulfil it, though it should bring destruction on his own head. That is why you are safe here only for the time. I know Marco, and while he will not dare to approach the Vila spring, he will guard the entrance, actually besiege you here until desperation urges you to some reckless step by which you will fall into his hands. Your comrades must be informed at any cost."
"That is impossible! Who should, who could carry such a message?"
"I!"
"What, you would----"
"I will do nothing by halves, and your rescue is but half accomplished if no aid comes from without. But I must wait till Marco has reached the village; he will search every hut, examine every stone in it, and meanwhile I shall gain time to go."
"Never!" cried Gerald. "I will not permit it. You might meet Obrevic, and I, too, know him. If he should guess--nay, even suspect, your design, he would kill you."
"Certainly he would!" said Danira, coldly. "And he would do right."
"Danira!"
"If Marco punished treason with death he would be in the right, and I should not flinch from the blow. I am calling the foe to the aid of a foe; that is treason; I know it."
"Then why do you save me at such a price?" asked the young officer, fixing his eyes intently upon her.
"Because I must."
The words did not sound submissive but harsh. They contained a sullen rebellion against the power which had fettered not only the girl's will but her whole nature, and which enraged her even while she yielded to it. She had brought the foreigner, the foe, to the sacred spring, although she knew that such a rescue would be considered treachery and desecration; she was ready to sacrifice everything for him, yet at the same moment turned almost with hatred from him and his love.
Theboracould not penetrate the depths of the ravine, but it raged all the more fiercely on the upper heights, roaring around the peaks as if it would hurl them downward. Old legends relate that, on such tempestuous nights, the spirits of all the murdered men whose blood has ever reddened the earth are abroad, and it really seemed as though spectral armies were fighting in the air and sweeping madly onward. Sometimes it sounded as if thousands of voices, jeering, threatening, hissing, blended in one confused medley, till at last all united with the raving and howling into a fierce melody, a song of triumph, which celebrated only destruction and ruin.
What else could have been its theme in this land where the people were as rigid and pitiless as the nature that surrounded them? Here conflict was the sole deliverance. A fierce defiance of all control, even that of law and morals, a bloody strife, and humiliating defeat. So it had been from the beginning, so it was now, and if the legendary ghosts were really sweeping by on the wings of the blast, they were still fighting, even in death.
Yet amid this world of battle, the Vila spring cast its spell of peace. Whence it came, who had uttered it, no one knew. The origin was lost in the dim shadows of the past, but the pledge was kept with the inviolable fidelity with which all uncultured races cling to their traditions. Perhaps it was an instinct of the people that had formerly erected this barrier against their own arbitrary will and fierceness, and guarded at least one spot of peace--be that as it may, the place was guarded, and the rude sons of the mountains bowed reverently to the enchanted precinct, whose spell no hostile deed had ever violated.
The moon was now high in the heavens, and her light poured full into the ravine.
The bluish, spectral radiance streamed upon the dark cliffs and wove a silvery veil upon the clear waters of the spring, which flowed on untroubled by all the raging of the tempest. Above were storm and strife, and here below, under the shelter of the towering rocks, naught save a faint murmuring and rippling that seemed to whisper a warning to give up conflict and make peace beside the spring of peace.
"You must!" said Gerald, repeating Danira's last words. "And I too must. I too have struggled and striven against a power that fettered my will, but I no longer hate that power as you do. Why should we keep this useless barrier of hostility between us; we both know that it will not stand; we have tried it long enough. I heard the cry that escaped your lips when I so unexpectedly crossed the threshold of your house. It was my own name, and the tone was very different from that hard, stern, 'I must.'"
Danira made no reply; she had turned away, yet could not escape his voice, his eyes. The low, half choked utterance forced a way to her heart; in vain she pressed both hands upon it. That voice found admittance, and she heard it amid all the raging of the storm.
"From the day I entered your mountain home one image stood before my soul, one thought filled it--to see you again, Danira! I knew we must meet some day. Why did you leave me that message? You would not take my contempt with you, though you defied the opinion of every one else. The words haunted me day and night! I could not forget them, they decided my destiny."
"It was a message of farewell," the young girl murmured in a half stifled tone. "I never expected to see you again, and I gave it to your promised wife."
"Edith is no longer betrothed to me," said the young officer, in a hollow tone.
Danira started in sudden, terror-stricken surprise.
"No longer betrothed to you? For heaven's sake, what has happened? You have severed the tie."
"No, Edith did it, and for the first time I realize how entirely she was in the right. Those laughing, untroubled, childish eyes gazed deep into my heart; they guessed what at that time I myself did not, or would not know. True, her father left me the option of returning if I could conquer the 'dream.' I could not, and now--by all that is sacred to me--I no longer wish to do so. What is the reality, the happiness of a whole life, compared with the dream of this moment, for which, perhaps, I must sacrifice existence? But I no longer complain of the stratagem that lured me here; it gave me this meeting, a meeting not too dearly purchased by the mortal peril that now surrounds me, nay, by death itself."
It was really Gerald von Steinach whose lips uttered these words, Gerald von Steinach, the cool, circumspect man with the icy eyes, who could not love.
They now flowed in a fiery stream from his lips and kindled a responsive flame in Danira's soul. Her strength could no longer hold out against this language of passion, and when Gerald approached her a second time, she did not shrink from him, though the hand he clasped trembled in his.
"Perhaps I may bring you death!" she said softly, but with deep sorrow. "It is my destiny to cause misfortune everywhere. Had I left Cattaro even a few weeks earlier, we should never have seen each other and you would have been happy by Edith's side. I know she merely entrenched herself behind caprices and obstinacy; her heart belongs to the man who was destined to be her husband. It is the first true, deep feeling of her life, the awakening from the dream of childhood. She is now experiencing her first bitter grief--through me. And yet she is the only creature I have ever loved."
She tried to withdraw her hand, but in vain. He would not release it, and only bent toward her, so close that his breath fanned her cheek.
"The only creature? Danira, shall not even this hour bring us truth? Who knows how short may be the span of life allotted to me? I do not believe Obrevic's fierceness and thirst for vengeance will be stayed by this spot, and am prepared to fall a victim to his fury. But I must once more hear my name from your lips as you uttered it just now. You must not refuse that request. If, even now, in the presence of death, they sternly withhold the confession of love, be it so, I will not ask it--but you must call me what my mother calls me--you must say this once: 'Gerald.'"
His voice trembled with passionate entreaty. It seemed vain, for Danira remained silent and motionless a few seconds longer. At last she slowly turned her face to his, and gazing deep into his eyes, said:
"Gerald!"
It was only one word, yet it contained all--the confession so ardently desired, the most absolute devotion, the cry of happiness, and with an exclamation of rapturous joy Gerald clasped the woman he loved to his breast.
The storm raged above them, and mortal peril waved dark wings over their heads; but amid the tempest and the shadow of death a happiness was unfolded which swallowed up every memory of the past, every thought of the future. Gerald and Danira no longer heeded life or death, and had a bloody end confronted them at that moment they would have faced it with radiant joy in their hearts.
"I thank you!" said Gerald, fervently, but without releasing the girl from his embrace. "Now, come what may, I am prepared."
The words recalled Danira to the reality of their situation; she started.
"You are right, we must meet what is coming; I must go."
"Go! At the moment we have found each other? And am I to let you face a peril I cannot share?"
Danira gently but firmly released herself from his arms.
"You are in danger, Gerald, not I, for I know every path of my 'mountain home,' and shall avoid Marco, who has now had time to reach the village. Have no fear, your safety is at stake, I will be cautious. Yet, before I go, promise me not to leave the Vila spring; let no stratagem, no threat lure you away. Here alone can you and your companion find safety and deliverance, one step beyond that rock gateway and you will be lost."
The young officer gazed anxiously and irresolutely at the speaker. True, he told himself that she would be safe; even if she met his pursuers no one would suspect whence she came or where she was going, and a pretext was easily found. If she remained with him she must share his fate and perhaps be the first victim of her tribe's revenge, yet it was unspeakably difficult for him to part from the happiness he had scarcely won.
"I will not leave the spring," he answered. "Do you think I want to die now? I never so loved life as at this moment when my Danira is its prize, and I am ready to fight for it--I shall be fighting for my happiness and future."
His glance again sought hers, which no longer shunned it, but the large dark eyes rested on his features with a strange expression--a look at once gentle, yet gloomy and fraught with pain; it had not a ray of the happiness so brightly evident in his words.
"The price[1]of your life!" she repeated. "Yes, Gerald, I will be that with my whole heart, and now--farewell!"
"Farewell! God grant that you may reach the fort safely; once there my comrades will know how to protect my preserver from the vengeance of her people."
He spoke unsuspiciously and tenderly, but he must have unwittingly stirred those dark depths in the girl's nature, which were mysterious even to him. Danira started as though an insult had been hurled in her face; the old fierceness seemed about to break forth again, but it was only a moment ere the emotion was suppressed.
"I need their protection as little as I fear the vengeance directed against myself alone! Farewell, Gerald; once more--farewell!"
The young officer again clasped her in his arms. He did not hear the pain of parting in the words, only the deep, devoted love, still so new to him from Danira. But she scarcely allowed him a moment for his leave-taking, but tore herself away, as if she feared to prolong it.
He saw her bend over the spring, while her lips moved as though she were commending her lover to its protection. Then she hastily climbed the cliff, and vanished through the dark rock gateway.
At the top of the height Danira paused. Only one moment's rest after this mute, torturing conflict! She alone knew what this parting meant. Gerald did not suspect that it was an eternal farewell, or he never would have permitted her to quit his side.
In spite of all, he did not know Danira Hersovac. She had, it is true, become a stranger to her people, out of harmony with all their customs and opinions, while her own thoughts and feelings were in the camp of the foe from whom she had once so defiantly fled, but the mighty, viewless tie of blood still asserted its power, and called what she was in the act of doing by the terrible name, treason.
She was going to summon the foreign troops to Gerald's aid, and if Marco held out--and hold out he would--blood would be shed for the sake of one who should not, must not die, though his rescue should cost the highest price.
From the moment Danira knew that this rescue was solely in her hands she no longer had a choice. Save him she must! It was a necessity to which she helplessly bowed, but to live on with the memory of what had happened and be happy by her lover's side--the thought did not enter the girl's mind.
The dead chief's daughter might commit the treason, but she could also expiate it. When Gerald was once rescued and in safety, she would go back to her brother and Marco, the head of the tribe, and confess what she had done. The traitress would meet death, she knew--so much the better. Then the perpetual discord between her birth and her education would be forever ended.
She cast one more glance into the ravine, where the water of the Vila spring was shimmering in the moonlight. Mysteriously born of the rocky soil, it appeared but once, gazed but once at the light to vanish again in subterranean chasms, yet its short course was a blessing to every one who approached it. Here, too, it had bestowed a brief, momentary happiness, which had only glittered once and must now end in separation and death; yet it outweighed a whole existence.
The invisible hosts were still contending in the air, their jeering, threatening voices still blended in the fierce chant of destruction and ruin. Danira was familiar with the legends of her home, and understood the menace of the tempest. She raised her head haughtily as if in answer.
"Vain! I will not let myself be stopped! If I commit the treason, I have pronounced my own doom, and Marco will pitilessly execute it. God himself would need to descend from heaven to secure my pardon. You shall be saved, Gerald; I will be what I promised--the price of your life!"
She hurried onward through the storm-swept, moonlit waste of rocks--to the rescue.