Danira Part 7

Edith's first thought was to wake her father and tell him what had occurred, but Danira's parting words echoed in her ears: "If you put them on my track, it may perhaps cause my death--it will not bring me back!" She knew her adopted sister, and was aware that she was capable of executing the threat.

The young girl walked irresolutely to the window which overlooked a portion of the city. The houses lay dark and silent, the citadel towering above them into the starry sky. Yonder lived Gerald, for whom that strange message was left. Why was it addressed to him, who had always treated Danira so distantly, almost rudely, and why could she not endure his contempt, when she was so indifferent to her adopted father's sentence of condemnation? The young girl's childish face, usually so untroubled, a.s.sumed an expression of thought, she could not answer this "why."

Suddenly she started. Three shots rang on the air in quick succession, distant, it is true, but distinctly audible amid the stillness of the night. Deep silence followed for several minutes, then came a single sharp report. It echoed from the citadel, and directly after the garrison was astir; lights appeared and vanished, and the red glare of torches fell upon the rocky declivities, where a search seemed in progress. At last a heavy, dull sound roared through the city, the discharge of a cannon, which waked the echoes of the surrounding mountains and died away in the distance.

Under other circ.u.mstances Edith would merely have watched the incident with curiosity, for actual cowardice was not in her nature, but now, startled and excited by what had just happened, a strange anxiety oppressed her like a presentiment of misfortune.

She darted back into her chamber to dress, but it was several minutes before she was ready and hurrying toward the other part of the house to wake her father.

There was no occasion to do so, the colonel was already up and dressed.

He too had been startled by the shots, and was in the act of buckling on his sword when his daughter entered and ran to him as though seeking protection.

"Are you awake, too, papa? What has happened? Up at the citadel----"

"A prisoner has escaped!" replied the colonel, finis.h.i.+ng the sentence.

"The alarm-shot gave the signal. Don't be frightened, child, there is no danger."

"But Gerald is there, and other shots were fired----"

"The sentinels discharged their guns; they have orders to fire upon a fugitive if he does not halt, but he must have escaped or the signal would not have been given. I shall send at once and get a report. But why are you up, Edith? Lie down again; the city is perfectly quiet, and I repeat that there is no occasion for alarm."

He spoke with a calmness that was partially a.s.sumed, for the incident harmonized too strangely with Gerald's warning, not to arouse grave anxiety. The young officer had mentioned treason, and something unusual was evidently occurring in the citadel. Who could tell what might happen in the city, at any rate the commandant wished to be at his post.

The Colonel's servant now entered with an orderly he had hurriedly summoned by his master's command.

Arlow released himself from his daughter, who still clasped him in her arms, and said, kindly but firmly:

"Go now, my child, you see I am on duty and must think of nothing else.

I must go at once. Try to sleep again, and don't allow yourself to be excited by things you do not understand."

Edith saw that she must obey this time and left the room, but the last words touched her like a reproach. True, she had never taken any interest in matters concerning her father's profession, so she was now sent to bed like a child that was only in the way, while the whole city was roused from slumber, while her father and lover were hurrying to their posts, and Danira--at the name a sudden perception of the truth flashed upon the young girl. She understood that Danira was connected with this event, and was playing some part in it, though the relation was still obscure.

Edith returned to her chamber, but sleep was out of the question. The night pa.s.sed very uneasily; the colonel had hurried out to personally inspect the posts and sentinels, and a.s.sure himself that there were no suspicious appearances in the city. Two hours elapsed before his return. Orderlies came and went. At dawn a detachment of soldiers left Cattaro and marched toward the mountains. Most of the residents who had been roused by the signal-gun were also astir to learn what had happened. At that time every unusual event acquired extraordinary importance.

Toward morning the excitement began to subside. People learned that the matter really concerned nothing but the flight of a prisoner who had escaped during the night, and was now being pursued by the military.

Lieutenant von Steinach, who had merely sent the most necessary information to the commandant, came at an early hour to make his report in person.

The interview had already lasted more than half an hour. The two men were alone in the colonel's private room, and both faces were so grave and gloomy that it was evident that the event was not quite so trivial as had been rumored in the city.

"I never believed from the first that Joan Obrevic was here for any friendly purpose," said Gerald. "I had been on his trail for several days, but this daring attempt at rescue was the last thing I expected.

It has. .h.i.therto been considered impossible to scale the citadel from the cliff side."

"Nothing is impossible to these mountaineers," replied the colonel, "especially where rocks and cliffs are concerned. But how did it happen that you discovered the prisoner's escape in the middle of the night, when even the sentinels had not noticed it?"

"I could not sleep, and the discoveries made yesterday rendered me suspicious. Toward midnight I once more went the rounds of the fortification to reconnoitre, and saw by the starlight the prisoner let himself down the wall and reach the ground, where two persons were waiting for him. I instantly alarmed the sentinels, and hurried to the spot myself. The fugitives, finding themselves discovered, fired at me.

Their bullets whistled close by my head; I returned the shots, and stretched one on the earth. The two others recklessly pursued the perilous way over the rocks, and vanished in the darkness. When my men hurried up and torches were brought, we saw that I had shot Joan Obrevic, who lay dead at the foot of the wall--he had purchased his son's liberty with his life."

Arlow had listened in silence, but the expression of his face became more and more anxious, and he now asked hastily:

"Did young Obrevic know you?"

"Certainly. I often saw him, as well as the other prisoners, while in command of the citadel."

"And do you think he recognized you last night?"

"Undoubtedly, for I shouted orders to my men. The bullets were meant for me; in a pursuit by the guards they probably would not have delayed their flight to fire; it was an act of revenge upon me personally."

The colonel rose and paced thoughtfully up and down the room several times; at last he paused, and said with deep earnestness:

"Gerald, I would give much if some other bullet than yours had killed Joan Obrevic."

"Why?" asked the young officer, looking up in surprise.

"You have shot the father, and the son has escaped into the mountains.

He will carry the news of your deed there, and I have already told you that last evening orders arrived to detach you from your post, and send you and your men to your regiment."

"Which has long been my ardent desire! I am really tired of guarding prisoners while my comrades are fighting the insurgents."

The colonel shook his head, and the anxious expression of his features was still more apparent as he replied:

"You do not know this people as I do; the vendetta exists among them in all its horrors. The chief has fallen by your hand, not even in battle, in a hand-to-hand conflict, but while flying, and it is known that you have killed him--you will be outlawed among the mountains."

Gerald shrugged his shoulders. "That can't be helped. Under the circ.u.mstances I could not, ought not to have acted otherwise. I was obliged to fire upon the fugitives when they did not halt at my shout, especially when they attacked me."

"You did perfectly right, but it is an unfortunate combination of circ.u.mstances. Obrevic's tribe undoubtedly only remained pa.s.sive until their chief's son was released and in safety, now its members will instantly join the rebellion and you may be compelled to march against them at once. Promise me to be cautious, and above all things never to venture anywhere alone. Do you hear? Always take an escort."

The young officer drew back with a half indignant gesture. "Am I to set my men an example of timidity and cowardice? You are a soldier, like myself, and know that danger is a part of our profession."

"When treachery and cunning are at work caution is no disgrace, even to a soldier. You will do your whole duty--I expect nothing less from you, but do not go beyond it and allow yourself to be carried away by your zeal to defy a danger which, after last night's occurrence, threatens you and you alone. You owe that to yourself and your promised wife. I demand a pledge that you will be prudent."

"I will be on my guard and not expose my life recklessly. I can promise nothing more; anything beyond would be cowardice."

The colonel repressed a sigh. "You are right, Gerald, but I shall see you go with a heavy heart. Hus.h.!.+ here comes Edith. Do not let her know what we have been discussing; she must not be needlessly alarmed. Well, my child, here you are! Have you slept off last night's excitement?"

Edith, who had just entered to give her father a morning greeting, did not look so bright and blooming as usual. Her features had a weary, worn expression, and even her voice lacked its customary blitheness, as she replied:

"I could not go to sleep again; every one in the house was awake and moving; besides, I did not know how Gerald had fared."

Gerald, who was advancing to meet his _fiancee_, felt the reproach contained in her words. He had not even thought of sending her a message, yet he might have supposed that she would be anxious about him.

"Pardon me," he answered, quickly. "I imagined you had already learned from your father that the nocturnal event was a matter of no consequence."

"It is rumored that the fugitives fired at you, that you returned the fire, and----"

"People exaggerate, as usual," interrupted the colonel. "Of course, Gerald was on the spot, and has done his duty; but you see he is safe and sound. Unfortunately, he has brought news which will compel me to discuss very serious matters in my own household. Where is Danira?"

Edith looked up, but not at her father; she turned her face toward Gerald.

"Danira has gone."