had either taken her father's admonition to heart or actually determined to strike fire from the flint, for she was so bewitchingly engaging that even Gerald's cool composure was not proof against it. He must indeed have been stone to remain unmoved by such a sparkling flow of jests and witticisms. The smile that so well suited his grave features, yet so rarely visited them, became more and more frequent, and, contrary to his usual custom, he allowed himself to be completely enthralled by the gay spirits of his fiancée.
While the young couple rode forward on the best terms with each other, Danira followed more slowly. As if by accident, she kept her mule a few steps behind, and the distance between her and the two others imperceptibly increased. The rear of the little cavalcade was closed by George, who trotted comfortably along, thinking how foolish his lieutenant was to long to be in the midst of the campaign, where they would be obliged to march in the dust and heat, instead of riding at their ease on mules.
They had gone about half way when they met a solitary horseman. He wore the picturesque dress of the mountain tribes of the country, a costume admirably suited to the vigorous frame and dark complexion of a man already past his youth. His rich garments and the small but spirited mountain horse, with its shining brown coat and gay trappings, showed that he was a rich and distinguished person in his tribe, and moreover he was attended by a servant or subaltern, who also wore the costume of the country, but was on foot.
The two men had come down a steep path which met the mountain road at this point, and in a narrow curve of the latter encountered Gerald and Edith. The stranger stopped his horse to let them pass, and made a haughty, dignified bow, though his eyes rested with a hostile gaze on the young officer. Gerald returned it with a military salute, and Edith, pleased with the stately mountaineer, bent her head courteously.
They were some distance in advance when Danira passed the spot. The stranger still sat motionless on his horse, but the young girl's mule suddenly stumbled, then reared and made a spring toward the cliffs. It was a perilous moment, but the horseman seized the animal's bridle with a firm grasp. While doing so he murmured a few words in the Slavonic tongue. Danira answered in the same language, probably an expression of thanks for the service rendered. The animals remained side by side a short time, while the stranger continued talking–not until George came up did he release the bridle with a brief farewell, and Danira then rode on.
Gerald and Edith had turned and watched the scene. There was no occasion for anxiety, as the rider kept a firm seat in the saddle, yet they waited.
"See, Danira has found a cavalier on the high-road!" said Edith, laughing. "Her countrymen are not usually ready to pay polite attentions to ladies; this seems to be an exceptional case."
"It is unusual, too, for a quiet, steady mule to stumble on a smooth road," replied Gerald, without averting his eyes from the group. "I don't understand how it could have occurred. The animal must have been irritated."
"Here you are! What has happened?" Edith called to her foster sister, who had remained perfectly undisturbed by the little incident, and now answered quietly:
"I don't know; something must have frightened the beast."
"Did you know that man, Fräulein Danira?" asked Gerald.
"No; I was merely thanking him for his assistance."
The answered sound positive and repellant, as though she wished to prevent any more questions. The young officer remained silent, but cast a keen glance at the spot where the stranger was just disappearing around a curve in the road. Edith, however, asked with curiosity:
"Did you know him, Gerald?"
"Certainly. It was Joan Obrevic, the chief of one of the principal mountain tribes, who, though he has not yet openly declared war against us, is only waiting for the signal to join the insurrection. He has been in Cattaro several days, ostensibly to make negotiations, and, unfortunately, has not been sent off without ceremony."
"Unfortunately?" Danira repeated. "You seem to regret it, Baron von Steinach."
"Certainly, for I believe the whole affair is merely a pretext to gain time or conceal efforts in another direction. Joan Obrevic has reason to remain passive for the present–his son is a prisoner in our hands. This son was one of the first to resist the attempt to force him into the military service, and unceremoniously shot the officer who commanded the detachment. This was the beginning of the bloody scenes which have since been so frequently repeated, but we at last succeeded in securing the assassin."
"The assassin–because he defended his liberty?"
"Because he treacherously shot the officer who stood quietly talking with him, expecting no attack–in civilized nations that is called assassination, Fräulein!"
Question and answer were equally sharp in tone, but Edith, who had been listening impatiently, now interposed.
"Dear me, do stop these political and military discussions! I'll make George my cavalier; he will at least try to entertain me, and not bore me with accounts of the insurrection."
The threat was probably not seriously meant, but Gerald seemed to understand it so, for he answered coldly:
"If you prefer George's company to mine I must of course submit."
Again that shrug of the shoulders and compassionate smile, which always enraged her. They did not fail to produce their effect to-day. She hastily drew bridle, turned, and called loudly:
"George, come here! We'll ride on before."
With these words she turned into a steep path that saved a long bend of the mountain road.
George did not wait to be asked twice. He quickly put his mule into a trot and overtook her the next instant.
A very familiar relation had already been formed between him and the young lady. Edith liked the somewhat rough but comical and zealous fellow, saw in him her lover's former play-fellow rather than his subaltern, and had instantly granted his entreaty that she would address him with the "Du" used in his native Tyrol. George, on his side, was not a little proud of this confidential position, and felt an even more enthusiastic admiration for his lieutenant's fiancée than for the lieutenant himself.
They rode up the mountain for about ten minutes, then reached the main road again, and were now far ahead of the others. Edith stopped her mule, and George did the same.
"I suppose we are to wait here for the lieutenant?" he asked.
The young lady cast a glance backward. Her anger had already vanished, but she wanted to punish Gerald for his lack of gallantry by compelling him to ride with Danira.
She knew that he had a positive aversion to her foster sister and that the feeling was mutual, for he and Danira avoided each other whenever they could. So Edith found much amusement in the idea of the vexation of both, if they were condemned to a longer tête-à-tête.
"No, George," she said. "As we are in advance, we'll get to the fort first–that is, if you'll go with me."
"I, Fräulein–to Krivoscia, if you order me!" exclaimed George, whose tongue always seemed to have an attack of cramp whenever he uttered the ominous word.
"Well, we won't go quite so far to-day, but I know how to appreciate this proof of your devotion. In your eyes, Krivoscia is the incarnation of everything horrible. So much the better. You won't run the risk of carrying home one of the Krivoscian girls and making her the future mistress of the Moosbach Farm."
The
