E. Werner - Danira

"Certainly. I only fear that, with this mode of teaching, you will accomplish nothing."

"Why not? Edith Is still half a child, and children must be taught. Yet, if you desire to give me any advice on this point, I shall be grateful." There was unconcealed mockery in this appeal for counsel to the girl of seventeen, but the cold, sullen glance that answered the scoff showed that it had failed to reach its mark. The young Slav was no longer a child; the dark shadow on her brow betrayed how far she had already advanced into womanhood.

"Edith can be influenced in only one way," she replied. "Then she can be swayed completely–but the appeal must be made to her heart."

"And you think I have not understood that?"

"You have apparently not desired to do so. The tutor will gain nothing from this spoiled child–the lover everything."

Gerald bit his lips; he felt the justice of this reproach, but he also felt a touch of Edith's irritability when she was reproved. Now it was his turn, and he could not even find a fitting answer.

As they approached the summit of the mountain the road began to ascend in steeper curves. Danira rode close to the edge; though her mule had just shown its untrustworthiness, she seemed perfectly fearless. Gerald could not help noticing how steadily the animal now trod upon the loose stones, and how firmly the slender hand held the bridle; she evidently had perfect control of the beast, so the incident appeared all the more incomprehensible.

They had just reached a broader, rocky projection, when Danira suddenly drew rein and bent down to her saddle.

"Has anything happened?" asked Gerald, whose attention was attracted.

"Nothing of any importance. Something about the saddle must have been disarranged by the mule's sudden jump. I did not notice it until now."

The young officer instantly stopped and dismounted, but his companion swung herself out of the saddle so quickly that she was already standing on the ground when he approached. He saw that she wished to avoid his assistance, and therefore, without a word, instantly turned to the animal. The damage was trifling; the saddle-girth had loosened. Gerald tightened it again, and then straightening himself, said:

"I think we will let the mules rest a little. They have had a sharp climb, and the fort is 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.