Clear and sparkling the starry night brooded over the dark, quiet earth. The jagged mountain-peaks were but dimly outlined against the sky, and the black masses of the cliffs blended with the sable shadow resting upon the bay.
The city was already wrapped in slumber, and the members of the commandant's household had retired to rest. Colonel Arlow himself had not returned until late from a neighboring village, where a detachment of troops was also stationed, and on his arrival did not find Gerald. The latter had waited vainly for his superior officer, who had been unusually delayed, and as the lieutenant was obliged to be at his post on the citadel at nightfall, he left a few lines, urging strict watchfulness as there were indications that Joan Obrevic's presence in the city was connected with secret plots. He promised to make a full report the following day, but mentioned no other names.
The colonel shook his head over the note, but he was too thoroughly acquainted with Gerald's quiet, penetrating mind, which did not allow itself to be influenced by mere conjectures, not to heed the warning. He gave the necessary orders, directed that any unusual occurrence should be instantly and directly reported to him, and then also went to rest.
Deep silence reigned in the sleeping-rooms of the two young girls, which adjoined each other. Edith, wearied by the long and fatiguing ride, had instantly lost herself in slumber and was living over in her dreams the last few hours that had been at once so pleasant and so strange. True, Gerald had unaccountably insisted upon shortening the visit to the fort, and avoided entering even one of the inner fortifications with the ladies. He seemed still graver than usual, but, on the other hand, had treated his young fiancée with a tenderness never before displayed. He had not quitted her side once all the way home, and had devoted himself to her so entirely that she did not even find time to notice how carefully he avoided addressing a word to Danira, and how completely the latter held aloof from him; it had been a delightful excursion.
The lamp which lighted the chamber threw a dim ray on the bed where the young girl lay, presenting a lovely picture in her slumber. The fair little head, turned somewhat on one side, nestled among the pillows, the smile evoked by a pleasant dream hovered around her lips, and her bosom rose and fell in deep, regular breathing; it was the sleep of a child still untroubled by care or sorrow.
Midnight had already come, when the door of the next room gently opened, and Danira appeared on the threshold. She was fully dressed and had thrown on a dark cloak, which enveloped her from head to foot. Gliding noiselessly across the carpet, she approached the bed. There was something ghostly in the tall, gloomy figure that bent over the young girl, so close that her breath almost fanned Edith's cheek. The latter started and opened her eyes.
"You--Danira?" she asked, still scarcely roused from her dream.
Danira hastily stood erect and turned as if to fly, but when Edith, yet half asleep, continued: "What do you want?" she stooped and said in a low, stifled voice:
"To bid you farewell."
Edith now seemed to wake fully and started up in alarm.