Danira Part 6

Gerald started as if waking from a dream, and hastily pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead, as though trying to efface some mark there.

"Edith is reminding us to start," he said, in a strangely tremulous tone. "It is really time for us to continue our ride, we had almost--forgotten it."

Danira made no reply, her dark lashes had already drooped again, and with them the veil seemed to fall once more over her whole nature; her face was as cold and rigid as before.

Gerald went to the mules, which had profited by the rest allowed them to browse on the puny plants growing here and there between the bowlders. Loosing the bridles he again turned to his companion.

"One word more, while we are alone. You were very frank to me, perhaps too much so. Can you, dare you, tell me the subject of that nocturnal conversation in the fisherman's hut?"

"No," was the curt, resolute answer.

"Then I must speak, at the peril of seeming to you an informer. When treachery is in question--"

"Treachery!" interrupted the young girl with quivering lips. "I am no traitress."

"Well, what do you call it, then, when hostile plans are woven against those under whose roof, in whose protection you live? How you reconcile your residence under that roof with what I was forced to hear just now is your own affair; it is my duty to warn the colonel, and I shall do so this very day."

With distant courtesy he offered his hand to help her mount, but she silently declined his a.s.sistance, and, with a single effort, sprung unaided into the saddle. The next instant Gerald was also ready and they pursued their way without exchanging another word.

On the height above Edith met them, radiant with delight at the advantage she had gained and maliciously enjoying the vexation inflicted upon her lover. She read plainly enough in his face and Danira's the annoyance they had endured during their ride.

"There come the loiterers!" she cried. "Why did you dismount on the way? You spent half an eternity on the rock down below."

"It was on account of the view," replied Gerald laconically. "You were far ahead. Did George take proper care when he went up the steep bridle-path with you?"

The young lady laughed--it was the merry, bell-like laugh ever at her command.

"Oh! yes; but you will be obliged to challenge George, Gerald. He has made me a proposal in all due form, and I requested time for consideration--the heir of the Moosbach Farm is a good match. What do you think of it?"

The young officer laughed very little at the joke. He had already joined his _fiancee_ and was riding close beside her. He felt as if he must seek in her sunny eyes protection from some unknown power that was shading him with its dark wings.

They now reached the last bend in the road, and here the whole view opened before them, still wider and more magnificent than below. At their feet lay the country with its rocks and waters, its dreary, barren wastes and luxuriant sh.o.r.es. The fervid rays of the southern sun were shining upon it, and far away in the distance glimmered the boundless expanse of the sea.

Yes, it was a strange country. Repellant, yet bewitching, like the people who belonged to it, and whoever had once taken a long look at it understood its mysterious spell.

III.

Clear and sparkling the starry night brooded over the dark, quiet earth. The jagged mountain-peaks were but dimly outlined against the sky, and the black ma.s.ses of the cliffs blended with the sable shadow resting upon the bay.

The city was already wrapped in slumber, and the members of the commandant's household had retired to rest. Colonel Arlow himself had not returned until late from a neighboring village, where a detachment of troops was also stationed, and on his arrival did not find Gerald.

The latter had waited vainly for his superior officer, who had been unusually delayed, and as the lieutenant was obliged to be at his post on the citadel at nightfall, he left a few lines, urging strict watchfulness as there were indications that Joan Obrevic's presence in the city was connected with secret plots. He promised to make a full report the following day, but mentioned no other names.

The colonel shook his head over the note, but he was too thoroughly acquainted with Gerald's quiet, penetrating mind, which did not allow itself to be influenced by mere conjectures, not to heed the warning.

He gave the necessary orders, directed that any unusual occurrence should be instantly and directly reported to him, and then also went to rest.

Deep silence reigned in the sleeping-rooms of the two young girls, which adjoined each other. Edith, wearied by the long and fatiguing ride, had instantly lost herself in slumber and was living over in her dreams the last few hours that had been at once so pleasant and so strange. True, Gerald had unaccountably insisted upon shortening the visit to the fort, and avoided entering even one of the inner fortifications with the ladies. He seemed still graver than usual, but, on the other hand, had treated his young _fiancee_ with a tenderness never before displayed. He had not quitted her side once all the way home, and had devoted himself to her so entirely that she did not even find time to notice how carefully he avoided addressing a word to Danira, and how completely the latter held aloof from him; it had been a delightful excursion.

The lamp which lighted the chamber threw a dim ray on the bed where the young girl lay, presenting a lovely picture in her slumber. The fair little head, turned somewhat on one side, nestled among the pillows, the smile evoked by a pleasant dream hovered around her lips, and her bosom rose and fell in deep, regular breathing; it was the sleep of a child still untroubled by care or sorrow.

Midnight had already come, when the door of the next room gently opened, and Danira appeared on the threshold. She was fully dressed and had thrown on a dark cloak, which enveloped her from head to foot.

Gliding noiselessly across the carpet, she approached the bed. There was something ghostly in the tall, gloomy figure that bent over the young girl, so close that her breath almost fanned Edith's cheek. The latter started and opened her eyes.

"You--Danira?" she asked, still scarcely roused from her dream.

Danira hastily stood erect and turned as if to fly, but when Edith, yet half asleep, continued: "What do you want?" she stooped and said in a low, stifled voice:

"To bid you farewell."

Edith now seemed to wake fully and started up in alarm.

"Farewell? Now, in the middle of the night? Where are you going?"

"Away--forever! Do not be so startled, Edith; it must be! It was foolish, imprudent, to come to you, but I could not go without seeing you once more; I did not think you would wake."

Edith evidently did not comprehend what she heard, but gazed as if bewildered into the face of her adopted sister, who now continued more impetuously:

"I should have gone in a few days or weeks--now it must be to-night. He has left us no choice, and he is a watchful jailer."

"He? Who? For heaven's sake don't talk in such riddles. Where are you going? You see I am almost frightened to death."

Danira fell upon her knees and clasped the young girl's hands; it was a fierce, painful grasp.

"Do not ask, I dare not answer. Your father will tell you that I have been ungrateful, wicked; perhaps he is right, but my right is higher, for it is the claim of home and kindred, of which he deprived me. He has felt as little affection for me as I for him--let him condemn me!

But you, Edith, have loved me, spite of all my failings. You never intentionally caused me pain, never turned coldly from me, even when you did not understand me. You must not believe that I have been unfeeling. I was only wretched, unutterably wretched! Remember this, when to-morrow they all p.r.o.nounce sentence upon me, and then--forget me!"

She had uttered all this with breathless haste, and now tried to rise, but Edith, who at last understood that the farewell was seriously meant, flung both arms around her neck and began to weep aloud.

"Hush!" whispered Danira, half beseechingly, half imperatively.

"Don't detain me, do not try to prevent my escape, I will not be stopped, though it should cost my life. If you wake the others and put them on my track, it will perhaps cause my death--it will not bring me back!"

The last words expressed such terrible determination that Edith, in her alarm, let her arms fall, and Danira profited by the opportunity to release herself.

"And now one more request. Tell him--Gerald von Steinach--I am no traitress. I have made no hostile plots against those who call themselves my benefactors, they only concerned one man's escape--he will know the secret to-morrow."

Edith suddenly stopped crying and fixed her astonished eyes upon the speaker.

"A message from you to Gerald? And I am to tell him that?"

"Yes! I will not, cannot take this man's contempt with me. I have borne much of late, but I will not endure that scornful glance from his eyes. Promise to repeat to him, word for word, what I said. And now farewell--forever!"

She stooped again, Edith felt two hot, quivering lips press hers, felt herself strained to a heart throbbing with pa.s.sionate emotion; but it was only for a moment, the next Danira had vanished. The door closed behind her, and the lamp diffused its soft light through the chamber as before, while the young girl pressed both hands upon her temples to convince herself that the scene through which she had just pa.s.sed was no mere vision in a dream.

Everything had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that it was some time before Edith recovered from her bewilderment. Then she rose hurriedly, threw on a dressing-gown and rushed into the adjoining room occupied by Danira. It was empty and deserted, the bed untouched, the door locked, the fugitive must have already left the house.