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 _fiancee_, 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 _protegee_ 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
_protegee_, 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 _protegee'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:
"Put this nonsense out of your head; it can't be thought of under any
circumstances."
"I'm only following my lieutenant's example," George persisted. "Heaven
and earth were moved to prevent his marriage; his mother and Colonel
Arlow, the brother-in-law and the whole people of Krivoscia cried out
against it. He didn't mind it in the least, but had his own way, and I
mean to do the same."
"But Herr von Steinach's case is entirely different. He has been of age
several years, and besides, before taking the decisive step, he made
every effort in his power to obtain his mother's consent. It was hard
enough for me to bless a marriage which lacked the mother's
benediction, and I finally yielded only to the force of circumstances.
Stephan Hersovac's opposition to the marriage rendered it impossible
for his sister to remain longer in his house, and it was equally
impossible for her to accompany her lover as his affianced wife. So I
performed the wedding ceremony in the hope that I should yet succeed in
reconciling the mother. But you cannot yet marry without your parents'
consent and you know as well as I do that you will never obtain it.
They will simply believe that you are out of your senses."
"Yes, I once thought so myself," replied George with the utmost
composure, "but people change their minds. I told you, your reverence,
that the whole race up yonder practice witchcraft, especially the
women. Dani--the young baroness, I mean--tried it on my lieutenant, and
Jovica has used hers on me; I'm just as far gone as he is. But this
witchcraft isn't at all disagreeable and does not imperil the salvation
of the soul, if a priest gives it his blessing as I saw yesterday in
church."
"But I repeat that the case is totally different. Gerald's wife belongs
to a foreign people, it is true, but she is descended from one of the
most distinguished families of the race, and the education she received
in the commandant's house, with her own personal qualities, fit her for
the position in life she will henceforth occupy. Jovica is the child of
poor shepherds, she is not even a Christian, understands neither our
language nor customs, and perhaps will never learn to accommodate
herself to them. You must see yourself that such a girl can never make
a suitable mistress of the Moosbach Farm."
"I see nothing at all except that I must have Jovica. Nothing else will
do, and I'll get her too, so I have no anxiety on that score."
"And suppose your parents disinherit the disobedient son? Gerald von
Steinach, under any circumstances, is the heir of his father's
property, and has already taken possession of it, but farmer Moosbach
can deprive you of the farm at any time, and from what I know of him he
will do so if you persist in your own way. What then?"
"Then I'll let the farm go to the deuce!" George obstinately declared.
"Jovica is worth more to me than all the Moosbach property. The
lieutenant will not object to keeping me with him, I know, and his wife
will have a countrywoman in mine. I'm in earnest, your reverence. I'll
give up my inheritance if it costs me Jovica."
Father Leonhard saw that he was in earnest, and knew the young fellow's
obstinacy sufficiently well to dread a serious family quarrel. For the
present, however, the conversation was interrupted by an officer, who
approached the priest and requested him to accompany him to the forward
deck.
Father Leonhard consented, after saying gravely to George: "We will
discuss this matter further," but the latter leaned defiantly against
the side of the cabin, folded his arms, and gazed around the decks to
discover Jovica.
The young Slav was with Danira, who, after some time, sent her down to
the cabin again on some errand. She obediently avoided the stern of the
ship and sorrowfully descended the stairs, but had scarcely entered the
saloon, which for the moment chanced to be empty, when there was a
clattering noise on the steps and George himself stood in the doorway.
Jovica's whole face brightened, but she glanced anxiously toward the
stairs, and said timidly:
"Father Leonhard!"
"He's up on deck," replied George. "Yet even if he should come, no
matter: I've just told him how we both feel, but I happened to think
that I haven't spoken of it to you, Jovica. You must be asked, so I
want to marry you! Will you have me?"
The abrupt, laconic proposal met with an unexpected obstacle. Jovica
had no idea what the strange word meant. She repeated it with a foreign
accent, but in a tone that plainly showed she associated no meaning
with it.
"Oh, yes, she doesn't understand," said George, somewhat perplexed,
realizing for the first time his future wife's education. "Well, then,
she must learn. Come here, Jovica, and listen to me. Yesterday we went
to church and saw the lieutenant and his bride married. We will go to
church, too, and Father Leonhard will marry us in the same way. Do you
understand that?"
He tried to speak distinctly, and occasionally introduced a Slavonic
word, which had some success, for the young girl nodded eagerly and
answered in broken German:
"I know--baptize--become a Christian."
"Yes, and then directly after--marry!" said George, emphasizing the
word energetically, as if he hoped in this way to make her understand
its meaning, but Jovica's knowledge of the language had not yet
extended to the idea of marriage, and she only repeated inquiringly:
"Become a Christian?"
"That's only a minor affair, the main thing is the marriage!" cried the
impatient suitor, whose piety deserted him on this point. "Girl, for
heaven's sake, you must understand! why, it's what you were born for!
Marry--have a wedding--get married!"
But no matter how vehemently and almost angrily he emphasized the
words, it was all in vain, the young girl looked helplessly at him, and
was apparently on the verge of tears.
"She really doesn't understand," said George, in sheer despair. "I must
make it plainer to her," and as though an inspiration had suddenly come
he embraced his _protegee_, pressing a hearty kiss on her lips.
Strangely enough his meaning now seemed to dawn on Jovica. True, she
started at the kiss, but instead of making the slightest resistance she
nestled closer to the young soldier, gazing at him with sparkling eyes,
while in a low, but infinitely sweet tone, she repeated the word George
had taught her with so much difficulty.
"Thank Heaven, she has understood it at last; I ought to have tried
that first!" he said, with great satisfaction, and while repeating
several times the new method of instruction which had succeeded so
admirably, added, by way of explanation:
"That's the way people do when they marry, and before, too. The only
difference is that before a priest interferes and forbids, and
afterwards he has nothing to forbid, but gives it his blessing. Now
come to the lieutenant and his wife. They must be the first to
know that we have settled the matter and are going to be married.
Jovica--say the word once more! It sounds so pretty when you bring it
out so clumsily."
And Jovica, whose faculty of comprehension had wonderfully increased,
uttered the newly-learned word to the entire satisfaction of her tutor
and future husband.
Meantime the steamer had continued her course, and was now approaching
the outlet of the bay. Gerald and Danira looked back at the slowly
disappearing scene.
The waves rippled and flashed in the sunlight. Far away on the shore
lay Cattaro with its white houses and towering citadel, and directly
above it towered the dark mountains, their rugged, riven peaks bathed
in the full radiance of morning. The ship now passed through the
straits at the end of the harbor. The gloomy, threatening cliffs rose
on either side as if to bar the way. Then the blue, heaving sea opened
before them, as it had looked from the rocky height on that memorable
day--a mist-veiled, sun-illumined waste of waters.