Part 18 (1/2)

”And let him down yonder be free again? I'll first settle with him and know who is the traitor. Speak, knave, was it you? Did you allow yourself to be bribed and bring the foe upon us? Answer, or you die!”

He had seized the messenger with a rude grasp and was shaking him as if he wished to verify his threat; the boy fell upon his knees.

”I only did what you ordered, nothing more. I waited till I saw the strangers enter Stephan Hersovac's house. There was no one in it except his wife and Danira.”

”Danira!” repeated Marco, in a hollow, thoughtful tone. ”She had disappeared when we came--where can she be?”

”Marco, decide!” urged Stephan, impatiently. ”The troops are in the village; they may be here in half an hour. Let us go.”

Obrevic did not hear. He was standing motionless with his eyes bent on the ground, as if brooding over some monstrous thought. The instinct of jealousy guided him into the right track, and suddenly, like a flash of lightning, an idea pierced the gloom--he guessed the truth.

”Now I know, I know the traitor!” he cried in terrible excitement.

”Danira--that's why she trembled and turned pale when I vowed vendetta against this Gerald von Steinach. She wants to save him, even at the cost of treason, but she shall not succeed. He shall fall first by my hand, and then she who is leading the foe upon us. No departure! No retreat! We will stay and await the enemy.”

It was a mad design to enter with his little band upon a conflict with a force double its number, and no prospect existed except certain defeat. All the men felt this, and therefore refused to obey.

Impatiently and angrily they clamored for departure, the cry rose on all sides, but in vain.

Since Obrevic had recognized in Gerald his rival, he no longer asked whether he was delivering himself and all his companions to destruction; his hate, inflamed to madness, knew but one thought: revenge.

”Do you not dare hold out?” he shouted. ”Cowards! I have long known what was in your minds. If it leads to defeat, to surrender, I shall stay. Out of my path, Stephan! Out of my path, I say--do not prevent me, or you shall be the first to fall!”

He swung his sabre threateningly. Stephan drew back. He knew the blind rage that no longer distinguished between friend and foe, and the others, too, knew their leader. No one made any farther opposition, only the old gray-haired mountaineer with the flas.h.i.+ng eyes called after him in warning tones:

”Marco Obrevic, beware. The Vila spring allows no vengeance and no blood.”

Marco laughed scornfully.

”Let it prevent me then! If G.o.d above should descend from heaven Himself, He will not stay me; I will keep my vow.”

They were almost the same words Danira had uttered in this very spot a few hours before. But what was then a cry of mortal anguish now became a fierce, scornful challenge.

Marco raised his head toward the brightening morning sky as though to hurl the defiance into its face, and with uplifted weapon entered the rocky gateway, the precinct protected by the spell.

Just at that moment the _bora_ again blew one last violent blast, raging over the earth as if all the spirits of evil were abroad. The men had flung themselves on the ground to escape the force of the gale, and the boy did the same.

Then the earth beneath them trembled and shook, while above echoed a sound like thunder. There was a cras.h.i.+ng, rumbling, deafening noise as though the whole ravine was falling into ruins--then a deep, horrible silence.

Stephan was the first to rise, but his dark face grew ashy pale as he looked around him. The huge gateway created by Nature herself for the ravine, had vanished, and in its place a heap of broken rocks and bowlders barred the entrance. The peak which for centuries had hung down threateningly, had fallen, The Vila spring had guarded its inviolability.

The others also rose, but no one uttered a word. Silent and awe-stricken, they gazed at the ma.s.s of ruins and the body of their chief who had been killed by the falling rock. Marco Obrevic lay buried under it. Only a portion of his face was visible, but it was the face of a corpse.

The fierce sons of the mountains were familiar with all the horrors of battle. They looked death in the face daily and hourly, but in the presence of this sign they trembled and the fearful answer their leader's scoff had received was spoken to them also. All crowded around Stephan Hersovac, the younger and now the only chief of the tribe, and a low, eager consultation took place. But it did not last long, and seemed to end in the most perfect unanimity of opinion. After a few minutes Stephan separated from his companions and approached the edge of the ravine from a different direction.

Here he shouted a few Slavonic words. Gerald, who thoroughly understood the language, answered in the same tongue. Then the leader gave the signal for departure, and the little band marched silently and gloomily away. They could not take Marco's body with them. It would have required hours to remove the ma.s.s of rock that covered the corpse.

Through the pale, gray light of morning appeared the party sent to secure Gerald and George, accompanied by Father Leonhard, who had joined the expedition when he learned its object, and had bravely endured the toilsome march through the night and tempest.