Danira

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 protégée 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 protégée, 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 protégée'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."