Danira
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"Do you not dare hold out?" he shouted. "Cowards! I have long known what was in your minds. If it leads to defeat, to surrender, I shall stay. Out of my path, Stephan! Out of my path, I say–do not prevent me, or you shall be the first to fall!"
He swung his sabre threateningly. Stephan drew back. He knew the blind rage that no longer distinguished between friend and foe, and the others, too, knew their leader. No one made any farther opposition, only the old gray-haired mountaineer with the flashing eyes called after him in warning tones:
"Marco Obrevic, beware. The Vila spring allows no vengeance and no blood."
Marco laughed scornfully.
"Let it prevent me then! If God above should descend from heaven Himself, He will not stay me; I will keep my vow."
They were almost the same words Danira had uttered in this very spot a few hours before. But what was then a cry of mortal anguish now became a fierce, scornful challenge.
Marco raised his head toward the brightening morning sky as though to hurl the defiance into its face, and with uplifted weapon entered the rocky gateway, the precinct protected by the spell.
Just at that moment the bora again blew one last violent blast, raging over the earth as if all the spirits of evil were abroad. The men had flung themselves on the ground to escape the force of the gale, and the boy did the same.
Then the earth beneath them trembled and shook, while above echoed a sound like thunder. There was a crashing, rumbling, deafening noise as though the whole ravine was falling into ruins–then a deep, horrible silence.
Stephan was the first to rise, but his dark face grew ashy pale as he looked around him. The huge gateway created by Nature herself for the ravine, had vanished, and in its place a heap of broken rocks and bowlders barred the entrance. The peak which for centuries had hung down threateningly, had fallen, The Vila spring had guarded its inviolability.
The others also rose, but no one uttered a word. Silent and awe-stricken, they gazed at the mass of ruins and the body of their chief who had been killed by the falling rock. Marco Obrevic lay buried under it. Only a portion of his face was visible, but it was the face of a corpse.
The fierce sons of the mountains were familiar with all the horrors of battle. They looked death in the face daily and hourly, but in the presence of this sign they trembled and the fearful answer their leader's scoff had received was spoken to them also. All crowded around Stephan Hersovac, the younger and now the only chief of the tribe, and a low, eager consultation took place. But it did not last long, and seemed to end in the most perfect unanimity of opinion. After a few minutes Stephan separated from his companions and approached the edge of the ravine from a different direction.
Here he shouted a few Slavonic words. Gerald, who thoroughly understood the language, answered in the same tongue. Then the leader gave the signal for departure, and the little band marched silently and gloomily away. They could not take Marco's body with them. It would have required hours to remove the mass of rock that covered the corpse.
Through the pale, gray light of morning appeared the party sent to secure Gerald and George, accompanied by Father Leonhard, who had joined the expedition when he learned its object, and had bravely endured the toilsome march through the night and tempest.
It had gradually grown light, so that everything could be distinctly seen, and the troops perceived Stephan and his men vanish in the distance.
"I hope we have not come too late," said the officer in command. "There is the enemy. If only they have not done their bloody work."
"God forbid!" exclaimed the priest. "We have reached the spot, but I don't see the rock gateway Danira described, there is nothing but a heap of stones. Can we have made a mistake?"
"We shall know immediately. Forward! Let us search the ravine. We must find them, alive or dead."
The men marched rapidly on, but before it was possible to obtain a glimpse of the ravine, the names of the missing comrades were shouted.
"Herr von Steinach–Gerald!" rang at the same instant from the lips of officer and priest, while Bartel, who was also present and had completely forgotten the affectionate admonition of his friend and countryman, called in a most piteous tone:
"George! George Moosbach!"
"Here's George!" replied the voice of the incorrigible Tyrolese, who had just emerged from the ravine. "And here's my lieutenant, too, safe and sound. How are you, comrades? I knew it! I knew you wouldn't leave us in the lurch! And Father Leonhard too! Good-morning, your reverence!"
He climbed on top of the cliff and Gerald appeared behind him. Both received an eager, joyous greeting, and then followed a perfect cross-fire of questions, explanations and reports, but while Gerald was giving his comrade and Father Leonhard a minute description of what had occurred, George seized his countryman by the sleeve and asked excitedly: "Bartel, you've come from the fort–how is Jovica?"
Father Leonhard also had a similar question to answer. Gerald took the first opportunity to draw him aside and inquire anxiously:
"Where is Danira? Has she returned to the fort?"
"No; after pointing out the way so that we could not miss it, she went back to the village. She did not wish to witness the probable conflict. Gerald, it seems to me that the young girl has a dangerous resolve. Not a word could be won from her about it, but I fear she means to tell her countrymen what she has done, and then she is lost!"
"Not now!" said the young officer, with suppressed emotion. "The war is over, we shall conclude peace. Stephan Hersovac as he marched away called to me that he would come to the fort to-morrow with some of his followers to conduct negotiations. I think he has long desired to do so, but Obrevic's influence deterred him.
"Thank God! Then he will not avenge on his sister the step he will himself take to-morrow; she could not be induced to remain under our protection."
"I think she will now confide herself to mine," said Gerald, with a joyous light sparkling in his eyes. "She must learn this very hour that no blood has flowed here save that of the unhappy man who lies lifeless yonder, and that was shed by no human hand; it was a judgment of God Himself, whom he defied. Your reverence, you have come too late to give the dead chief the last consolations of the church. He died unreconciled to himself and to his God."
They turned toward the pile of shattered rocks, around which the others had already gathered, but all made way for Father Leonhard.
The priest slowly advanced and gazed down a few seconds at the rigid, blood-stained face, then raising the cross he wore in his girdle and holding it above the dead man he said, with deep solemnity:
"Vengeance is mine! I will repay, saith the Lord."
VIII
The insurrection was over, the last desperate resistance made by Marco Obrevic at the head of his tribe ceased with his death. Stephan Hersovac was not a man to uphold a lost cause to his own destruction; he lacked both the obstinacy and the energy of his predecessor. He had really appeared at the fort and accepted the conditions offered; so the revolt, so far as this mountain province was concerned, was ended.
True, weeks and months elapsed before the troops returned home, and Gerald's regiment was one of the last to leave. It remained some time in Cattaro before the embarkation, but fate spared the young officer an unpleasant meeting. Colonel Arlow and his daughter were no longer in the city.
During the whole rebellion the commandant had displayed so much discretion and energy in his difficult and responsible position that due recognition of his services was not delayed. He was recalled from his post to receive a fitting promotion, and assigned to the command of a garrison in one of the Austrian capitals.
It had long been his desire to exchange the distant Dalmatian fortress for garrison duty at home, and it was doubtless owing to this fact that the transfer was made so speedily.
The new commandant arrived much earlier than he was expected, and directly after his predecessor quitted the city and was already in his home when Gerald's regiment entered Cattaro.
The young officer had passed through a season of severe trial, months of conflict with all the obstacles that warred against his love. He had been compelled, in the fullest sense of the word, to fight, but he knew how to assert the claim that hour of mortal peril had given him.
He had seen Danira again when the troops from the Vila ravine returned to the village to take a short rest after their hurried march, and here a final struggle occurred to induce the young girl to keep silence. She was firmly resolved to tell her countrymen what she had done and who had brought the relief.
Although peace and reconciliation were close at hand, she would not have been sure of her life a single hour after such a confession, but the terrible event which ended Marco's life uttered its decisive word here also, and bowed the girl's stubborn will. And it was her lover who pleaded, who with all the influence of his devotion persuaded her that here, where no blood had flowed by her fault, no atonement was required. Obstacles and barriers of every kind barred the possibility of a union–the tie still existing in name between Gerald and his former fiancée, the probable opposition from his mother, the conflict with Stephan, who certainly would not quietly permit his sister to wed a foreigner; but none of these things could shake the young officer's courage and confidence since he had Danira's promise to be his, though he left her with a heavy heart in her brother's house, which for the present was her only refuge.
In the fierce altercation, when, at the approach of the troops, all crowded around their reluctant chief to urge retreat, and every one shouted and screamed at the same moment, Marco's last words, in which he uttered his suspicion of Danira, had either been unheard or not fully understood–except by Stephan, and the latter preferred to keep silence. He did not wish to know what he no longer possessed the right to punish, since he had himself gone to the enemy and submitted to his terms.
Marco Obrevic, with iron consistency, would have sacrificed his love, his wife, at such a discovery. Stephan was differently constituted. He did not wish to see his sister die by the hands of his countrymen, and he knew that she was lost if even a suspicion arose against her. He therefore pretended to believe what was told him and his companions at the fort–to protect Danira from any act of vengeance–that the troops, without any suspicion of Gerald's fate, had set out for the purpose of seeking the enemy whom they believed to be in that direction, and were greatly surprised when, on the way, they found their officer.
This explanation satisfied the mountaineers, who were not in the habit of pondering over anything irrevocable. The apparent accident seemed to them only a confirmation of the judgment which had overtaken their leader because he had ventured to defy the ancient, time-hallowed tradition of his people. No suspicion was aroused against Danira. Not until the hour of parting did Stephan learn from her lips what to him was no secret.
George Moosbach, whose time of service would expire in a few weeks, was very proud of returning home decked with a medal for bravery as one of the conquerors of Krivoscia, but he was much out of humor and greatly offended because Father Leonhard would not permit him to practice his paternal duties to the degree he thought necessary.
The meeting at the fort when Jovica, with enthusiastic joy, flew to greet her protector, and George could find no end to his words of welcome, had made the priest very uneasy, and he afterward restricted their intercourse as far as possible. Besides, he was seriously embarrassed to decide how to dispose of the young girl. Jovica had neither home nor relatives, and though it was Father Leonhard's intention to make her a Christian, his official duties gave him little time to act the part of teacher.
The girl had not learned much German and was just beginning to understand the precepts of Christianity when the order arrived for the regiment to march to Cattaro, and thus the question what was to become of the "little Pagan" had to be seriously considered. George wanted to take her to the Moosbach Farm and formally present her to his parents as his adopted child, but Father Leonhard, who knew the characters of the farmer and his wife better, opposed this plan, until at last Gerald made a suggestion which was adopted by both parties.
He proposed that Jovica, who had proved very capable and obliging, should accompany Danira, with whom she had the tie of a common country and language, as a sort of maid, and remain under her protection until her future was finally decided. True, George was only half satisfied with this arrangement, which in his opinion did not give sufficient importance to his paternal rights, but as it afforded him the opportunity to see his protégée daily he submitted.
The hour of embarkation had come, and the steamer which conveyed the officers and a small detachment of the men steered out into the bay.
On the guards of the vessel, a little apart from his comrades, stood Gerald, and by his side Danira, who, since the day before, had borne his name. Father Leonhard had privately married them on the day previous to their departure.
The young wife wore a simple travelling dress, yet there was a peculiar charm in her appearance which it had lacked even when the picturesque costume of her country had lent her beauty so effective a setting. The gloomy, defiant expression that had formerly marred this loveliness had passed away. In the bright sunshine that flooded the deck the youthful figure no longer stood like a dark shadow; the radiance rested on her face also, a reflection of the happiness that so vividly illumined her husband's features.
The shore already began to recede, and the steamer was just passing the commandant's house, from whose windows Danira had watched the approach of the vessel which brought, with Gerald, her fate and future.
The window, from which Edith's light figure had leaned while her laughing, happy eyes sought her lover, was now closed. The memory of the price her happiness had cost suddenly overwhelmed the young wife, and she turned away to hide her tears. Gerald noticed it.
"It is hard for you to leave your home, I know!" he said, bending toward her. But she shook her head.
"It is only hard because I must go thus, without one farewell, without a parting word from my brother. Peace is now restored, and as chief of a tribe he often comes to Cattaro; but on my wedding day he did not appear, I was obliged to go to the altar without my only living relative."
"Did you expect anything different after the manner in which Stephan received my suit? He seemed to consider it almost an insult, and made it hard enough for me to win you; I was forced to fairly wrest you from him. You do not imagine how painful it has been for me to know that you were surrounded by those who were daily and hourly striving to tear you from me, while I was still absent in the field."
"Was not the same attempt made to influence you? And you suffered more keenly under it than I, for in your case the opposition came from the person who was dearest to you on earth. Our marriage also lacks your mother's blessing."
"Not by any fault of mine!" replied Gerald. "I tried every possible means of obtaining her consent. For months, in my letters to her, I have entreated, pleaded, raged–all in vain. Her sole answer was the stern 'no,' the obstinate prohibition, till I was at last forced to remember that I am no longer a child, but a man who knows what he desires in life, and will not suffer his happiness to be destroyed by prejudices. You are right, we have purchased this happiness dearly; it will cost us both home and the love of our nearest relatives–do you think the price too high for what we have obtained?"
There was passionate tenderness in the question, and his young wife's look gave him a fitting answer.
After a pause she said gently:
"Then you will not enter your home again, will not even try to personally induce your mother–"
"No," Gerald resolutely interrupted. "She refuses to see you, so I shall not go to her. I know what I owe my wife; either Castle Steinach will receive you as its future mistress, or it will never see me within its walls. I know the hostile influence acting against us; my mother may be stern and proud, but this boundless harshness to her only son is no part of her character; it is Arlow's work! You know that after our betrothal, I wrote to him frankly and unreservedly, but with the respect of a son; he vouchsafed no reply, but instantly wrote to my mother, representing the affair to her from his point of view. She received the first news from him before my letter reached her hands, and how the tidings were conveyed I perceived from her reply. Since his return home he has constantly fanned the flames, and at last made an open breach."
"I can endure his hatred," said Danira, whose eyes were still fixed upon the house. "I have unintentionally thwarted his favorite wish, and he always cherished an aversion towards me, but to have Edith turn from me in persistent resentment was at first more than I could bear. She knows from my letter how and where we met, knows that mortal peril first brought me to your arms. I concealed nothing, and, with all the ardent love of the friend, the sister, implored her forgiveness if I had caused her pain–she has not sent even one line in answer."
"Her father would not have allowed it, his command–"
"Edith never lets herself be denied anything. She is accustomed to obey the voice of her heart, and is all-powerful with her father. Had she wished to write me she would have done so, in spite of any opposing influence; but she cannot pardon me for robbing her of your love–I understand that."
Gerald was silent; he would not own how heavily this unforgiving resentment on the part of his mother and Edith weighed upon him. It cast a dark shadow on the happiness of the newly-wedded pair.
Meantime the conversation between the officers had grown louder and more animated, and Lieutenant Salten now said:
"Gerald has been the wisest of us all. He is taking away an enviable souvenir of the campaign, and will make a sensation in the garrison with his beautiful trophy of the war. When people learn the romance associated with it–"
"You were somewhat involved in the romance too," interrupted another of the group laughing. "Your stolen portfolio, at any rate, played an important part in the affair."
"Yes, that confounded boy who made himself so officious and was sent off on suspicions of being a spy, robbed me of it and instantly carried it to his master. Of course they could do nothing with the notes and letters, but the portfolio itself served as a means of luring Gerald into the trap. Had the plot succeeded we should have had one brave comrade the less, and–ah, there comes the young couple! See how lovely Frau von Steinach looks in the full glare of the sunlight! I stick to it, Gerald is bringing home the best prize of the whole campaign."
The other officers seemed to be of the same opinion, for when Gerald now approached with his wife, they vied with each other in attentions to the latter, and the young pair instantly became the centre of the circle, from which they could not escape for some time.
Meanwhile George came out of the cabin with Jovica, whom he had succeeded in finding, and took her to a part of the deck at some little distance from his companions, who made no attempt to interrupt them, for it was well known that George was very sensitive about his protégée, and really would not hesitate to fight half the company if he were irritated. But just now he looked as dignified as though he was Father Leonhard himself, and his tone was equally grave as he began:
"Look at your home once more, Jovica, you are seeing it for the last time! True, this Krivoscia is a God-forsaken country, and we thank all the saints that we are safe out of it again, but it is your native land, and that must be respected."
Jovica glanced toward the mountains because her companion was pointing to them, but she understood very little of his speech, and the parting from her home did not appear to trouble her much, for she looked extremely happy, though she knew the ship was bearing her to a distant country.
"Now we are going to Tyrol," George continued. "To the beautiful land of the Tyrol, a very different place from your mountain wildernesses. There are forests, rivers, vineyards and castles, and there's not another place in the whole world equal to the Moosbach Farm. Some day it will belong to me. Do you understand, Jovica? I'm no poor vagabond like Bartel, who, when he takes off his uniform, must enter somebody's service. I'm the only son and heir of farmer Moosbach, and in our country that means something."
Jovica listened attentively, but her knowledge of German was not yet sufficiently comprehensive for her to understand these boasted advantages. George saw that she did not perceive his meaning and tried to enlarge her ideas by seizing both her hands and drawing her toward him, when Father Leonhard suddenly emerged from the cabin and stood directly behind the pair.
"What are you doing on this deck among the men, Jovica?" he asked, with unwonted sternness. "Your place is over yonder with Frau von Steinach."
"Why, I was with her, your reverence, and none of the others would dare come near her!" replied George, instantly taking up his protégée's cause. "I wouldn't advise them to try it. If any one does, he'll go heels over head into the water the very next minute."
Father Leonhard's face showed that he was not particularly edified by this protection, but he merely turned to Jovica and repeated:
"Go to Frau von Steinach!" When she had retired he approached his parishioner, who wore a very belligerent expression.
"What does this mean, George? I have forbidden you, once for all, to take such familiarities with the young girl, but you don't seem to heed my command. I am very much displeased with yon."
"Well, your reverence, I'm not pleased either!" said George, defiantly. "I found Jovica and adopted her as a child, but no one respects my paternal rights. If I even look at the girl your reverence appears and gives me a lecture, and then the lieutenant comes and unceremoniously takes her away as his wife's maid. I'm not consulted at all. I have nothing whatever to say about the matter–I won't bear it any longer."
"I have already explained to you several times that you are far too young to fill such a position. Things can't go on in this way."
"You are perfectly right, there, your reverence!" assented the young Tyrolese, so emphatically that the priest looked at him in surprise. "I have longed seen that, and was just going to speak to you about it. The place of a father doesn't suit me, I find no pleasure in it, so I'll begin the business from the other end. In short, I will marry Jovica."
Father Leonhard did not look much astonished by this declaration which he had long dreaded, but a frown darkened his brow and his voice sounded very grave:
"You will do nothing of the sort! The girl is scarcely beyond childhood, and–not at all–why, you can't even understand each other yet."
"No, we don't understand each other, but we're tremendously in love with each other," said George, earnestly, "so the best thing we can do is to get married."
"And your parents! Have you thought what they will say to such a choice?"
"Yes, my parents! Of course they'll make a row that can be heard all over Tyrol, so I'll follow Herr Gerald's example and get married on the way. We shall stay a week in Trieste, your reverence, you can unite us there. Of course you must first baptize my future wife, for she can't remain a pagan, and then many her directly after. So, when I get home the whole affair will be settled, and let my parents and the Moosbach Farm be as much upset as they please, I shall have Jovica!"
The plan flowed so glibly from the lips of the young Tyrolese that it was evident he had pondered over it a long time, but unluckily Father Leonhard did not seem inclined to adopt this admirable suggestion, for he answered sternly: