The last words expressed such terrible determination that Edith, in her alarm, let her arms fall, and Danira profited by the opportunity to release herself.
"And now one more request. Tell him--Gerald von Steinach--I am no traitress. I have made no hostile plots against those who call themselves my benefactors, they only concerned one man's escape--he will know the secret to-morrow."
Edith suddenly stopped crying and fixed her astonished eyes upon the speaker.
"A message from you to Gerald? And I am to tell him that?"
"Yes! I will not, cannot take this man's contempt with me. I have borne much of late, but I will not endure that scornful glance from his eyes. Promise to repeat to him, word for word, what I said. And now farewell--forever!"
She stooped again, Edith felt two hot, quivering lips press hers, felt herself strained to a heart throbbing with passionate emotion; but it was only for a moment, the next Danira had vanished. The door closed behind her, and the lamp diffused its soft light through the chamber as before, while the young girl pressed both hands upon her temples to convince herself that the scene through which she had just passed was no mere vision in a dream.
Everything had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that it was some time before Edith recovered from her bewilderment. Then she rose hurriedly, threw on a dressing-gown and rushed into the adjoining room occupied by Danira. It was empty and deserted, the bed untouched, the door locked, the fugitive must have already left the house.
Edith's first thought was to wake her father and tell him what had occurred, but Danira's parting words echoed in her ears: "If you put them on my track, it may perhaps cause my death--it will not bring me back!" She knew her adopted sister, and was aware that she was capable of executing the threat.
The young girl walked irresolutely to the window which overlooked a portion of the city. The houses lay dark and silent, the citadel towering above them into the starry sky. Yonder lived Gerald, for whom that strange message was left. Why was it addressed to him, who had always treated Danira so distantly, almost rudely, and why could she not endure his contempt, when she was so indifferent to her adopted father's sentence of condemnation? The young girl's childish face, usually so untroubled, assumed an expression of thought, she could not answer this "why."
Suddenly she started. Three shots rang on the air in quick succession, distant, it is true, but distinctly audible amid the stillness of the night. Deep silence followed for several minutes, then came a single sharp report. It echoed from the citadel, and directly after the garrison was astir; lights appeared and vanished, and the red glare of torches fell upon the rocky declivities, where a search seemed in progress. At last a heavy, dull sound roared through the city, the discharge of a cannon, which waked the echoes of the surrounding mountains and died away in the distance.