Danira Part 10

George looked very much disappointed when the baptismal ceremony, in which he expected to play so important a part, receded into the dim distance, but he answered submissively:

"Well, you know best, your reverence, but the poor thing can't remain a pagan, that's clear."

"For the present she will stay here," the priest added. "I need help in caring for the wounded, and as one of them speaks Slavonic fluently, he can act as interpreter. We will try at once."

He was going to take the girl by the arm to lead her away, but Jovica resisted with all her strength this attempt to separate her from her protector. Clinging anxiously to him, she began to weep bitterly, saying in an imploring tone a few Slavonic words, which George understood no better than she comprehended his language, but he stepped back resolutely and drew her toward him.

"This won't do, your reverence," he said emphatically. "Jovica must be differently treated or she will cry, and I can't stand that. The poor thing is as timid as one of our chamois, and shrinks from every one except me. One must talk to her like a father, and I am the only person who understands it."

He stroked the girl's shining black hair with a soothing touch, and actually began a speech in which he arbitrarily mixed with his Tyrolese German a few Slavonic words he had picked up somewhere. It sounded more barbaric than fatherly, yet Jovica was evidently quieted. She no longer resisted when he at last led her to Father Leonhard, and by pantomime endeavored to make known his goodness, but her eyes were still wet with tears and rested with touching persistency on her protector.

The latter seemed to have several farewell ceremonies in view, but the priest put an end to them by taking his charge away. George looked after them very calmly. He had now placed both the affairs that lay near his heart in the hands of the priesthood, and was firmly convinced that Father Leonhard would deal with the "witchcraft" as well as the paganism.

He was just turning to go, when his comrade Bartel entered on his way to report to the lieutenant.

"Well, George, have you got rid of your foundling?" he asked, in a jeering tone. "What does Father Leonhard say to the pagan? Will he baptize her?"

"Take care, Bartel!" replied George. "You are my friend and countryman, but if you don't let me and Jovica alone, you'll fare badly."

Bartel did not heed the warning, but continued his taunts.

"A pretty adopted child you've chosen! A pagan witch, brown as a gypsy, and ragged as--"

He went no further, for his friend and countryman stretched out his arm and dealt the scoffer so violent a blow that he staggered back against the wall and held his head between both hands as though dazed.

"That's what happens to people who talk about Jovica!" said George with perfect composure. "Take notice and tell our comrades, that they may govern themselves accordingly. If necessary, I'll knock down the whole company," and conscious of having done a good act, he held his head very high as he walked away.

Lieutenant von Steinach had kept his promise and sought Father Leonhard in his room as soon as he found time to do so. He was now standing at the window of the small apartment gazing at the dreary dead mountain landscape, to which the sunset was lending a rather delusive semblance of life.

The young officer, too, had been little affected by the fatigues of the campaign. True, his features bore traces of the scorching heat of the sun, and his light brown hair lay in thicker, more dishevelled locks on his brow and temples, but otherwise he looked as fresh and vigorous as ever. The privations of the past few weeks seemed to have only strengthened him.

Yet the priest's watchful gaze discerned a change which, though only in the expression, was distinctly apparent.

This was not quiet, pa.s.sionless Gerald von Steinach, whose cool circ.u.mspection had become proverbial among his comrades. There were new lines on his face, a half gloomy, half bitter expression, which told of secret conflicts concealed with difficulty, and a deep shadow lurked in the eyes formerly so clear. He had related his military experiences, discussed the chances of the campaign, spoken of his home and his mother, but had never uttered a syllable in allusion to his promised bride, and had even avoided mentioning Cattaro, though the city was the real point of departure of all military operations. His manner of speaking was also changed, it had become hasty and abrupt, as though he wished to deaden some hidden anxiety and did not fix his thoughts upon the conversation. At last he stopped talking, and his eyes rested dreamily on the distant prospect. The rocks still gleamed redly in the last rays of the setting sun, and on the horizon appeared long, sharply outlined clouds, which also still glowed with rosy light.

The long silence which ensued roused Gerald from his reverie. He turned, and when he saw the priest's questioning gaze fixed upon him, an indignant expression flitted over his face.

"I was just watching the sky," he said, hastily. "We learn here to know the signs of the weather; it seems as if we were going to have a _bora_. I'm glad I have sheltered my men in the fort, and that there is a probability of our having a few days' rest."

"You all need it," replied Father Leonhard. "Especially you, Gerald; you have been almost continually on the move these last weeks."

"It was necessary; the insurgents don't give us much time to breathe.

You know it is Joan Obrevic's son who is now causing us the most trouble."

"And this son is chief of the tribe, and is making every exertion to avenge his father. It often occasions me great anxiety, Gerald. You have told me your experiences, but you have not mentioned how often that vengeance has already threatened you. I learn from your comrades that you have hitherto escaped these open and secret snares as though by a miracle."

The young officer merely shrugged his shoulders.

"I am in the hands of a higher power, and--it is true--I have been of late so often and so wonderfully preserved that I have learned to trust this protection."

"But he who defies danger, as according to the other officers is your custom, also defies Providence. Your life does not belong only to yourself, others have a claim upon it."

"My mother--yes!" said Gerald slowly. "I sometimes forget that she is anxious about me."

"And your promised wife?"

The young man silently fixed his eyes upon the floor.

"I hope you have letters from her? Our mail communication with Cattaro is tolerably regular."

Gerald looked up, and doubtless read in the priest's glance that he knew more than he cared to show, for he said quickly:

"Has Colonel Arlow written to you?"

"No, but perhaps I have learned from another source what you are concealing from me."

Gerald made no reply, but again turned toward the window and seemed to wish to close the conversation. Father Leonhard went up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder.

"Gerald, you have spent little time at home during the last few years, but surely you know that I am no stranger there. Will you not speak freely to your parents' friend, to the priest?"

The question sounded gentle, yet grave and warning, and did not fail to produce an effect. Gerald pa.s.sed his hand across his brow.

"What am I to say? Do I know myself what it is that oppresses me? I have been driven into doubts, discord with my own nature. Had Edith and her father trusted to my honor, they would not have repented it. The affair was over, and I should have crushed the memory of it like an evil dream--forever!"

"A young girl does not wish merely to trust to her lover's honor in keeping his troth," replied the priest earnestly. "She asks his love, and with perfect justice. Besides, as I understand, the colonel has permitted you to return as soon as you can do so, with a free heart.

Have you written to Fraulein Allow?"

"No," said Gerald, in a slow, dreary tone.

"You could not?"

"No, I could not."

"Gerald--this is impossible--it cannot be."

"What is impossible?" asked the young man with intense bitterness, "that the somnambulist, who is suddenly waked to see the gulf at his feet, should be seized with giddiness? Had he been left undisturbed, he would have found the way back. I once thought it impossible that a feeling could slumber for weeks in the depths of the soul, wholly unsuspected, till suddenly a flash of lightning came to illumine the darkness, that such a light could alter the whole nature until a man no longer recognized himself in his thoughts and feelings. In Cattaro I might still have conquered it; now that I have been alone for weeks I know I can no longer do so, and thereby am sundered from my whole past, involved in dissension with those who stand nearest to me, engaged in perpetual warfare with myself. Would it not be best if I should not return at all, and will you reproach me for seeking danger and longing for the bullet that will end this torture?"

He had spoken with increasing agitation. A terrible change had indeed taken place in the quiet man, and the priest was quite startled by this fierce, feverish impetuosity.

"I never expected to see you thus, Gerald," he said with mingled reproof and sorrow. "So it has already gone so far that you seek death, that----"

"We must all look death in the face here," Gerald interrupted. "To me he has lost his terrors, that is all. But we ought not to spoil our meeting by such discussions. I wanted to speak to you of other matters.

George has already entrusted his charge to you, I hear. He would not rest till I gave him permission to take the girl to the fort. The only question is, what is to become of her now."

The sudden change of subject plainly showed that he wished to escape the former topic of conversation, and Father Leonhard made no attempt to keep to it, he had already learned too much.

The two men talked for several minutes longer about Jovica, but neither felt at ease, and Gerald seized the first opportunity to withdraw.