The two men were now alone in the ravine, but the young officer's gaze
still rested on the spot where Danira had vanished. He did not notice
that George had climbed down from his bowlder and approached him, until
the worthy fellow made his presence known by a heavy sigh which
attracted his attention, and he asked:
"What ails you?"
George made the regulation military salute.
"Herr Lieutenant, I wanted to respectfully report--I couldn't hear
anything up there, but I saw the whole affair."
"Indeed? Well, that alters nothing, though I did not particularly
desire your presence. To be sure, I had entirely forgotten you."
"I believe so!" said George, sighing a second time, and even more
piteously. "You had forgotten everything. If all Krivoscia had come up
and made an end of us I don't think you would have even noticed it. But
I at least kept watch and prayed constantly for the salvation of your
soul, but it did no good."
"That was very kind of you!" replied Gerald, who was completely
possessed by the arrogance of happiness which raised him far above all
anxiety or thought of peril. "I certainly had no time for that, since,
as you saw, I was pledging my troth."
"Herr Gerald!" In his despair George forgot respect and used the old
familiar name. "Herr Gerald--by all the saints--this is awful!"
"To betroth one's self in the presence of mortal danger? It is
certainly unusual, but the time and place cannot always be chosen."
This had not been George's meaning. He thought the fact terrible in
itself, and with a face better suited to funereal condolence than
congratulation he said:
"I've long known it! I said day before yesterday to Father Leonhard:
'Take heed, your reverence, some misfortune will happen! And if it does
all Tyrol will be turned topsy-turvy and Castle Steinach to boot----'"
"Let them! then."
"'And the blow will kill his mother,'" George continued, pursuing the
current of his mournful prophecies.
"My mother!" said Gerald, who had suddenly grown grave. "Yes, I shall
have a hard struggle with her. No matter! The battle must be fought.
Not a word more, George!" he cried, interrupting the young soldier, who
was about to speak. "You know I submit to many liberties of speech from
you where the matter concerns only myself, but there my indulgence
ends. From this moment you must respect in Danira Hersovac my future
wife: remember it and govern yourself accordingly."
"Perhaps we shall both be killed first!" said George, in a tone which
seemed to imply that it would afford him special consolation. "I don't
believe this bewitched spring is a protection against murder, and if
the enemy doesn't finish us, the confounded rock hanging in the air
yonder will. It moved when the _bora_ just blew so madly. I saw it
distinctly. It actually nodded to me, as if it wanted to say: 'Just
wait, I'll drop down on your heads!'"
He pointed upward and Gerald's eyes followed the direction indicated.
The white moonbeams flooded the dark stone without being able to lend
it any light. Gloomy and threatening, like a gigantic shadow, the rock
overhung the entrance of the ravine, and the shimmering moon-rays
produced such an illusion that it seemed to the young officer as though
the summit had actually sunk lower and the opening had grown smaller,
but he shook his head in denial.
"Nonsense! Surely you heard that the rock had leaned so for centuries.
It has endured far different storms from this one; even the fiercest
_bora_ can do nothing against this unyielding stone. At any rate this
is our best position for defense. Our backs are protected, and we can
watch the approach of the enemy--hark! What was that? Did you hear
nothing?"
The two men listened intently George too had started, for he also had
heard a strange noise, but the wind drowned it entirely. A long time
passed, then the _bora_ lulled a few minutes, and now they distinctly
heard, at no very great distance, the sound of footsteps and voices,
which, judging by the echo, belonged to a large body of men.
"There they are!" said Gerald, who, in the presence of danger, had
completely regained his coolness; his voice scarcely betrayed a trace
of excitement. "Come here by my side, George! We'll keep together so
long as we can hold out. They shall at least see that they have to deal
with men who will not let themselves be slaughtered without
resistance."
George accepted the invitation and stationed himself by his
lieutenant's side, but could not help in this critical moment uttering
a last hurried prayer to his patron saint.
"Saint George! I've never bothered you much with petitions, and always
helped myself wherever it was possible, but there's no chance here. You
know I haven't been a bad fellow, except for my love of brawling and
fighting, but you liked it too, Saint George! You always struck about
with your sword and hewed down the dragon, so that it could only
writhe. So help us fight, or rather fight with us, for we can never
conquer alone. And if you will not do that, at least grant us a blessed
end, and take the poor little pagan, Jovica, under your protection, so
that she can be baptized and meet us some day in heaven--Amen!"
Jovica! That was the last thought of the young Tyrolese, even later
than his soul's salvation; he wanted at least to have the satisfaction
of seeing her again in heaven.
"Are you ready?" asked Gerald, who had not lost sight of the entrance a
moment, though he heard the murmuring of his companion. George drew
himself up resolutely.
"Ready, Herr Lieutenant! The praying is finished, now it's time for the
fighting, and I don't think I shall disgrace my patron saint."
The men stood side by side, grasping their weapons firmly in their
hands ready for an attack, which, it is true, merely afforded them the
hope of an honorable death, for if it once came to fighting they were
lost, but minute after minute passed, and the assault was not made.
The entrance to the ravine was open and unguarded, and the pursuers had
now reached it.
Their voices, raised in loud, angry tones, were distinctly heard in the
pauses of the storm, but no one appeared, no one crossed the threshold
of the rock gateway; an invisible barrier kept them back.
An anxious quarter of an hour, which seemed endless, passed in this
perplexing quiet. Sometimes, single figures, standing in dark, sharp
relief against the starry sky, appeared high up on the edge of the
ravine, evidently trying to obtain a view of the bottom. Their weapons
glittered in the moonlight, but not a shot was fired. At last they
vanished again, while the confused roar of the tempest grew still
louder and fiercer than before.
"Strange! They really do not dare to approach the spring!" said Gerald
in a low tone. "Danira is right, the tradition will be respected, even
against the enemy--I would not have believed it."
"This is getting tiresome, Herr Lieutenant," replied George. "Here
we've been standing for more than half an hour, perfectly resigned to
our fate and ready to be murdered--of course, after we've killed half a
dozen of the enemy--and now nothing happens! This is evidently
witchcraft. These people fear neither death nor devil, and yet are
afraid of water."
"Then we will remain under the protection of this water. You heard the
caution; not a step beyond that rock! Whatever they try, whatever
happens, we will not quit the spring until help comes--if it comes at
all."
The last words sounded gloomy and despairing, the young officer was
thinking of all the possibilities that might detain Danira on her way
to the fort, but George said confidently:
"Our comrades won't leave us in the lurch, nor Saint George either. He
will have some consideration and help an honest Tyrolese against this
band of murderers. It would have been a pity about us both, Herr
Lieutenant. I'm in no hurry to die yet. I think there will be plenty of
time for that, fifty years hence, and it would be too bad to have the
Moosbach Farm go to strangers."
With these words George leaned comfortably against the cliff, and began
to imagine the fifty years and picture Jovica's delight when he entered
the fort alive and well. He finally came to the conclusion that an
earthly meeting of this sort would be preferable to a union in heaven,
especially as, owing to his foundling's paganism, the latter was
somewhat doubtful.
Hour after hour elapsed; the night began to wane, the stars shone less
brightly, then one by one vanished, and the cold, gray dawn, rested on
the earth. The _bora_, too, had almost ceased. It only blew
occasionally in violent gusts that raged with redoubled power, but the
pauses between constantly lengthened, the storm was evidently nearly
over.
Outside the ravine containing the Vila spring was the band of pursuers
who, with dogged, tireless endurance, had waited there for hours.
Danira knew her race and especially Marco Obrevic. She was well aware
that he would not leave the track of his foe, though he would not dare
to approach the spring. In fact he had not yet ventured to do so, but
now his unruly nature seemed to triumph over the barrier that
restrained it.
A dispute had evidently broken out among the men; their voices rose in
loud altercation, Marco's loudest of all. He was standing in the midst
of his companions, towering in height above them all, but his bearing
was menacing and defiant, as if he were in the act of carrying out his
will by force.
Stephan Hersovac was vainly trying to restore peace.
"Let him go; he only threatens; he will not do it," he called to the
others.
"You will not violate the spring, Marco; the two men in the ravine
cannot escape us, but we must wait till--"
"Wait!" interrupted Marco, whose voice betrayed the fury that seethed
in his heart. "Haven't we waited here since midnight? Hell may have
revealed the secret to them--they know it, they must know it! No wile,
no threat will induce them to come forth; they will not quit the
spring. Shall we camp here, perhaps for days, till hunger drives them
out or until they are missed at the fort and troops come to rescue
them. What then?"
"Then the Vila spring will have protected them, and we must submit,"
said one of the men, an old mountaineer with iron-gray hair, but a form
still vigorous and unbent.
"Never!" cried Marco, furiously "Rather will I strike him down on this
spot, though it should cause my own destruction. For months I have
sought him and he has ever escaped me. At last I have him in my grasp,
and I will not withdraw my hand till it is red with his blood. I have
sworn it, and I will keep my oath. No spell protects the man who killed
my father and your chief."
"The Vila spring protects all!" said the same old man with marked
emphasis. "Back, Marco! Madman! You will bring misfortune on yourself
and on us all, if you break the peace."
"Do you suppose I am not man enough to fight those two men alone?"
sneered Obrevic. "Stay behind! I'll take the consequences upon myself.
Make way, Stephan, I am going into the ravine."
A threatening murmur rose on all sides against the young chief. The men
had followed with eager, passionate approval when he set out to crush
his foe. The foreign officer had slain the head of the tribe, they were
all summoned to avenge the fallen man--first of all, his son. That was
a thing imperative, inevitable, which according to their ideas of
justice must be done. Each man was ready to aid, and no one scrupled
because the victim had been treacherously lured into a trap and was now
assailed by greatly superior numbers.
Danira had told the truth; here only the deed was important; how it was
accomplished no one cared.
But now the point in question was the violation of an old and sacred
tradition, which no one had yet ventured to assail, and superstition,
which among uncultured races is even more powerful than religion, stood
with threatening aspect between Gerald and his pursuers. The Vila
spring was mysteriously associated with all the legends of the country
to which it belonged; to violate it was to bring misfortune upon land
and people. Only a nature like that of Marco, who knew no law save his
own will, could have attempted to rebel against it, and when he did so
his comrades seemed on the verge of preventing him by force.
Surrounding him they barred his way to the ravine. Weapons flashed and
it seemed as though the conflict might end in bloodshed, when Stephan
Hersovac again interposed.
"Let us have peace," he said, placing himself by his friend's side.
"Shall our own blood flow for the sake of an enemy, a stranger? Keep
back, Marco, you don't know what you are doing," and, lowering his
voice so that no one save Obrevic could hear, he added:
"You want to lead us to the attack again to-morrow. Not a man will
follow you if you shed blood in this place, you will be outlawed and
all will turn from you."
He had taken the right way to restrain the fierce Obrevic. The latter
uttered a suppressed exclamation of fury and clenched his teeth, but he
made no further effort to break through the circle that surrounded him.
He knew only too well that his disheartened, diminished band followed
him reluctantly to the combat in which he meant to deal the enemy one
last, desperate blow; that the men saw safety only in surrender. The
power of his personal influence still induced them to obey him, but
this power would be ended if he actually entered the magic circle with
uplifted weapon.
Just at this moment a single figure, apparently a boy, came toward them
from the village. It was the shepherd lad who had been sent to carry
Gerald the false message, who had served as guide, and then hurried to
Marco with the tidings. He ran at full speed to the men, whom he at
last reached, panting and breathless.
"Beware, Marco Obrevic!" he gasped, "the soldiers are coming--twice
your number--they are searching for him, the foreign officer--and you!"
All started at the unexpected news, but Marco vehemently exclaimed:
"You lie! They cannot have heard yet; they think the village is
occupied by their own men. Are they there?"
"No, they passed by without stopping, without asking a question. They
are marching to the Vila spring, I heard the name."
"This is treason. How do they know he is there? They ought to think he
is in the village. Who was it took the message to them?"
"Never mind that now," interrupted Stephan. "You hear that there are
twice our number. We cannot fight here, it would be certain
destruction. Let us go while we have time."
"And let him down yonder be free again? I'll first settle with him and
know who is the traitor. Speak, knave, was it you? Did you allow
yourself to be bribed and bring the foe upon us? Answer, or you die!"
He had seized the messenger with a rude grasp and was shaking him as if
he wished to verify his threat; the boy fell upon his knees.
"I only did what you ordered, nothing more. I waited till I saw the
strangers enter Stephan Hersovac's house. There was no one in it except
his wife and Danira."
"Danira!" repeated Marco, in a hollow, thoughtful tone. "She had
disappeared when we came--where can she be?"
"Marco, decide!" urged Stephan, impatiently. "The troops are in the
village; they may be here in half an hour. Let us go."
Obrevic did not hear. He was standing motionless with his eyes bent on
the ground, as if brooding over some monstrous thought. The instinct of
jealousy guided him into the right track, and suddenly, like a flash of
lightning, an idea pierced the gloom--he guessed the truth.
"Now I know, I know the traitor!" he cried in terrible excitement.
"Danira--that's why she trembled and turned pale when I vowed vendetta
against this Gerald von Steinach. She wants to save him, even at the
cost of treason, but she shall not succeed. He shall fall first by my
hand, and then she who is leading the foe upon us. No departure! No
retreat! We will stay and await the enemy."
It was a mad design to enter with his little band upon a conflict with
a force double its number, and no prospect existed except certain
defeat. All the men felt this, and therefore refused to obey.
Impatiently and angrily they clamored for departure, the cry rose on
all sides, but in vain.
Since Obrevic had recognized in Gerald his rival, he no longer asked
whether he was delivering himself and all his companions to
destruction; his hate, inflamed to madness, knew but one thought:
revenge.
"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."