E. Werner - Danira

"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 did not finish the sentence, for Danira interrupted him. Now she at last found words, but they sounded like the outcry of a tortured prisoner who can no longer endure the rack.

"No more! Spare your insults. You are speaking of–my brother."

She hurled the word at him so passionately, yet with such convincing truth that doubt was impossible. Nor did Gerald doubt, but he seemed fairly stunned by the unexpected disclosure, and almost mechanically repeated:

"Your brother?"

"Stephan Hersovac–yes! I saw and talked with him that night; with him and no one else."

Gerald involuntarily uttered a sigh of relief. He did not know himself why a load suddenly seemed to fall from his breast. The worst fact, the treachery still existed; but he had a vague feeling that he could forgive even this sooner than the other, which had aroused his contempt.

"Then, of course, I beg your pardon," he said. "I could not possibly suspect that a brother and sister would surround their meetings with such secrecy."

"Is it my fault that my brother dares not venture to approach me openly?" asked Danira sullenly. "He was implicated in the affair which delivered young Obrevic into your hands; the same fate threatens him if he shows himself here."

"Yet he ventures into the immediate vicinity of the city. Was that really done only to see a sister who has become so much a stranger to him, for whom he has never inquired, about whom he has never troubled himself?"

Gerald's tone was very different from before, but he had retained the same earnestness, and the look which strove to read the young girl's features was so grave and searching that she shrank from it.

"Baron von Steinach," she said, in a hurried, anxious tone, "I have betrayed my secret to you against my will; you understood how to drive me to extremities, but you will take no unfair advantage of a confession wrung from me in a moment of excitement. You will say nothing?"

"First convince me that I can keep silence without violating my duty. We stand on the brink of a volcano; hatred and hostility everywhere confront us; we must be watchful. I have done you injustice once, Fräulein, and should not like to do so a second time, but–can you answer to the man to whom you owe so much for what was agreed upon that night between you and your brother?"

"To whom I owe the slavery of my whole youth? I suppose you are speaking of Colonel Arlow?"

The words sounded so cutting that the young officer frowned angrily, and his voice regained its former harsh tone as he replied:

"Though Colonel Arlow feels your coldness to him and Edith, he probably never suspected the existence of such an idea in the mind of his adopted daughter, nor has he deserved such a return for his kindness in giving a shelter to two deserted orphans."

The reproach only seemed to irritate Danira still more. A threatening light flashed in her eyes.

"And who made us orphans? Who killed our father? He was dragged here mortally wounded, to die in prison; my mother caught her death in the fever-laden air of the hospital, and the children were to be reared and educated by those who had robbed them of their parents. We were not consulted when we were torn from our people, our home; we were disposed of like soulless brutes. My brother was spared this fate; he was carried back to our native mountains. I remained among strangers, as a stranger, whose presence was tolerated beside the beloved and idolized child of the household. They robbed me of everything–country, parents, friends and gave me in return the wretched alms of an education which only made me miserable, for it never filled the deep gulf that separated me from them in every thought and feeling, never let me forget that I am of a different race. I remained in chains, because I was forced to do so, yet I felt them when still a child, hated them from the moment I first waked to the consciousness of their existence. Now my own kindred summon me, I cannot, will not wear the fetters longer. I throw them at your feet. I will be free at last."

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