Danira. E. Werner
still some distance off."
He knotted the bridles loosely together, and then stepped out upon the point, where Danira was already standing, gazing into the distance.
The landscape they beheld was both magnificent and peculiar, a picture whose wide frame contained the most abrupt contrasts. Desolate rocky wastes, and green, smiling shores, white hamlets glimmering in the brightest sunshine, and gloomy ravines where scarcely a ray of light penetrated, the luxuriance of the south and the rude solitude of the north, but all lay as if transfigured in the clear, golden radiance of the morning.
Yonder appeared the city, with its harbor and citadel, picturesquely located on the coast, and beyond the rocks, bare dark-gray stone, towering higher and higher, growing more and more desolate, till they at last ended in jagged, riven peaks. Far below gleamed the bay in its strange, curving outlines, which sometimes seemed to seek and meet each other, then to recede far asunder. The surface of the water flashed under the rays of the sun like a glittering metal mirror, and the same tide lay black and motionless in the shadow of the lofty cliffs, which actually rose out of it, and whose steep sides were washed by the waves.
But the eye roved over rocks and waters to the open sea. Yonder on the horizon it gleamed, mist-veiled, sun-illumined, the blue expanse seeming to stretch into infinite distance, for at the point where sea and sky met it blended with the deep azure hue of the heavens, arching above the earth in all the radiant, glittering splendor of the south.
Gerald's gaze rested fixedly on this magnificent view, whose varied charms enthralled him. At last he turned to his companion, but she did not notice it. Her eyes, looking dreamily into the distance, were now fixed on the mountain peaks of her home, looming dimly through the mists. The girl herself stood like a dark enigma amid the surroundings into which fate had cast her. The cold, expressionless face, and the fire lurking in the depths of her dark eyes, the delicate, youthful features, and the stern aspect that robbed them of all youth, were as contradictory as the country of her birth.
Perhaps this very contrast attracted the young officer. This girl was certainly a different creature from the blonde Edith, with her rosy, laughing face, around which the blue veil fluttered so coquettishly. Danira's black habit was wholly devoid of ornament, and the little black hat, which did not half cover the heavy braids was equally simple. The slender yet vigorous figure, it is true, showed perfect symmetry of outline, and the regular features seemed chiselled in marble, but the sunshine flooding the girlish form appeared to be repelled; she had something of shadow in her nature which only became more conspicuous in a bright light.
Danira must have felt the searching glance resting upon her, for she suddenly turned, and pointing to the distant landscape, said:
"There is a symbol of our country! I think it can bear comparison even with your home."
"Certainly, and it has an added charm–the superb background of the sea. The country is beautiful, if only it did not contain so many enigmas."
"Why, you are just on the verge of solving them all. There is not a ravine, not a rock-bound province which has not been penetrated by your troops; the people know how to tell them."
"At least we shall know our friends from our foes, and I think we have a right to ask that question."
The words sounded so significant that Danira's attention was attracted. She cast a quick, inquiring glance at the young officer's face, and replied curtly and coldly:
"Ask, then."
"Suppose I should be obliged to commence here with the query: 'Where did you make Joan Obrevic's acquaintance?'"
"I have already told you that he is a stranger to me."
"Yes, you said so, but I don't believe it."
Danira drew herself up proudly. "Baron von Steinach, I must beg you not to extend your educational efforts to me; I am not Edith."
"But you are the commandant's adopted daughter and enjoy the rights of a child in his household. I must remind you of the fact, since you seem to have forgotten it."
The young girl turned pale and was in the act of making a hasty reply, but, as though warned by some sudden recollection, controlled herself. Yet a contemptuous expression hovered around her lips as she replied:
"At least, until now, the commandant's house has been free from–spies."
Gerald started as if he had received a blow, his face flushed crimson and his hand involuntarily grasped the hilt of his sword. No one would have supposed that his clear eyes could blaze with so fierce a fire as at that moment, and his voice, usually so calm, sounded hollow and half stifled.
"That word came from a woman's lips. Had a man dared to so insult me, I should have had but one answer for him."
Probably Danira had not expected her thoughtless words to produce such an effect, but she was evidently more surprised than alarmed by the sudden outbreak. So this man must be irritated, stung to the quick, ere sparks would flash from the flint. She almost felt a secret satisfaction in having accomplished this, but now also realized the full force of the offence. Her eyes dropped, and she answered in a low tone:
"I was insulted first–I have no weapon of defence except my tongue."
Gerald had already recovered his composure. He seemed to repent the ebullition of rage and resumed his usual quiet manner, though with a shade of icy reserve.
"I fear I shall be obliged to give you back the evil name. Listen to me quietly, Fräulein," he added, as she made an angry gesture. "The subject must be mentioned between us. I prefer to apply first to you and, as we are alone here, it can be done at once."
The words sounded somewhat mysterious, but Danira seemed to understand them, for she requested no explanation. Yet her eyes no longer avoided the gaze of her foe, but met it firmly and fearlessly; she was ready for battle.
"A week ago I was obliged to take to the commandant in person a report that admitted no delay," Gerald continued. "Leaving the citadel at a very early hour in the morning, I went to the city alone on foot. I suppose you know the little house, occupied by Slavonic fishermen, which stands somewhat off the road; I need not describe it to you. Day had not quite dawned when I reached the spot. Just at that moment the door opened and two persons came out. A man–not Joan Obrevic, but a slender youth, who, like him, wore the costume of the country–and a lady whom, in spite of the gray dusk, I distinctly recognized. How she had succeeded in passing through the city gates, which at night open only to the watchword, I do not know, nor how she returned again. The pair took a very familiar leave of each other, then one walked in the direction of the city, the other went toward the mountains, and in a few minutes both vanished in the fog. But no one had passed through the gates that night, I was the first person for whom they were opened."
He paused as if for an answer; but none came. The girl remained silent and did not even attempt to defend herself. The young officer had probably expected something of the sort. His face darkened still more and there was an accent of scorn in his voice as he continued:
"Of coarse I have no right to meddle with love affairs, but I have every reason to suppose that the relation is here abused to forward very different plans. A few days after this incident, Joan Obrevic appeared in the city. He, too, frequents that house, and probably also receives reports there from persons most closely associated with the commandant. His younger comrade doubtless merely opened the path he is now following. I, at least, do not believe in the farce of negotiations which he alleges as the motive for his stay."
Again a pause ensued. Danira still persisted in her silence, though evidently most deeply wounded by the speaker's glance and tone. Her face seemed to grow actually livid in its pallor, and her bosom heaved with her gasping breath, but her lips were firmly closed as if to force back any words.
"So you refuse me any explanation," Gerald began again. "Then of course I see my fears confirmed. You can understand that I cannot take delicacy into account where our safety is at stake. I shall inform the colonel that he is being betrayed by a member of his own household, and at the same time beg him if possible to keep the matter from Edith. I should not like to have my young fiancée learn at what an hour and place her adopted sister receives a stranger who–"
He