V.

The _bora_ had 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, the _bora_ was 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, Fraeulein, 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, Fraeulein," 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 the

_bora_ had 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.