aversion to her proposed bridegroom, but he could find no opportunity to "say his word" to the latter, for Gerald entered with Father Leonhard, whom he introduced to the commandant.

The fog was beginning to scatter when the little party of riders left the city. They passed the fortification walls and the citadel frowning on its cliff, and entered the open country. The object of the day's excursion was a visit to a fort situated on a steep mountain several hours' journey away, whose commanding position afforded a wide and magnificent view. They intended to avail themselves of the opportunity to pay the commanding officer a short call, for the order excluding strangers, of course, did not apply to Colonel Arlow's prospective son-in-law. The colonel himself was detained in the city by his military duties, so Gerald accompanied the two ladies.

The mountain road, used principally for military purposes, and therefore extremely well kept, began just outside of the city. At first trees and bushes appeared on both sides, but soon everything green vanished, and the road led upward in countless windings through desolate, rocky heights.

The dense, heavy curtain of clouds, which at dawn had concealed the whole landscape, began to grow thinner and thinner till it became a transparent veil, and finally melted away in blue vapor. The bay and its shores sank lower and lower, and the mountains seemed higher and more rugged, the nearer the party approached them. Edith's moods that day perfectly justified the term "April weather." The shower of the morning was followed by bright sunshine. No one would have supposed that the sparkling, laughing eyes had shed tears an hour before. The dainty figure in the dark-blue riding habit sat the mule lightly and gracefully, and looked as fresh and sunny as the day struggling victoriously through the mists.

Edith had either taken her father's admonition to heart or actually determined to strike fire from the flint, for she was so bewitchingly engaging that even Gerald's cool composure was not proof against it. He must indeed have been stone to remain unmoved by such a sparkling flow of jests and witticisms. The smile that so well suited his grave features, yet so rarely visited them, became more and more frequent, and, contrary to his usual custom, he allowed himself to be completely enthralled by the gay spirits of his fiancée.

While the young couple rode forward on the best terms with each other, Danira followed more slowly. As if by accident, she kept her mule a few steps behind, and the distance between her and the two others imperceptibly increased. The rear of the little cavalcade was closed by George, who trotted comfortably along, thinking how foolish his lieutenant was to long to be in the midst of the campaign, where they would be obliged to march in the dust and heat, instead of riding at their ease on mules.

They had gone about half way when they met a solitary horseman. He wore the picturesque dress of the mountain tribes of the country, a costume admirably suited to the vigorous frame and dark complexion of a man already past his youth. His rich garments and the small but spirited mountain horse, with its shining brown coat and gay trappings, showed that he was a rich and distinguished person in his tribe, and moreover he was attended by a servant or subaltern, who also wore the costume of the country, but was on foot.

The two men had come down a steep path which met the mountain road at this point, and in a narrow curve of the latter encountered Gerald and Edith. The stranger stopped his horse to let them pass, and made a haughty, dignified bow, though his eyes rested with a hostile gaze on the young officer. Gerald returned it with a military salute, and Edith, pleased with the stately mountaineer, bent her head courteously.

They were some distance in advance when Danira passed the spot. The stranger still sat motionless on his horse, but the young girl's mule suddenly stumbled, then reared and made a spring toward the cliffs. It was a perilous moment, but the horseman seized the animal's bridle with a firm grasp. While doing so he murmured a few words in the Slavonic tongue. Danira answered in the same language, probably an expression of thanks for the service rendered. The animals remained side by side a short time, while the stranger continued talking--not until George came up did he release the bridle with a brief farewell, and Danira then rode on.

Gerald and Edith had turned and watched the scene. There was no occasion for anxiety, as the rider kept a firm seat in the saddle, yet they waited.

"See, Danira has found a cavalier on the high-road!" said Edith, laughing. "Her countrymen are not usually ready to pay polite attentions to ladies; this seems to be an exceptional case."

"It is unusual, too, for a quiet, steady mule to stumble on a smooth road," replied Gerald, without averting his eyes from the group. "I don't understand how it could have occurred. The animal must have been irritated."

"Here you are! What has happened?" Edith called to her foster sister, who had remained perfectly undisturbed by the little incident, and now answered quietly:

"I don't know; something must have frightened the beast."

"Did you know that man, Fräulein Danira?" asked Gerald.

"No; I was merely thanking him for his assistance."

The answered sound positive and repellant, as though she wished to prevent any more questions. The young officer remained silent, but cast a keen glance at the spot where the stranger was just disappearing around a curve in the road. Edith, however, asked with curiosity:

"Did you know him, Gerald?"

"Certainly. It was Joan Obrevic, the chief of one of the principal mountain tribes, who, though he has not yet openly declared war against us, is only waiting for the signal to join the insurrection. He has been in Cattaro several days, ostensibly to make negotiations, and, unfortunately, has not been sent off without ceremony."

"Unfortunately?" Danira repeated. "You seem to regret it, Baron von Steinach."

"Certainly, for I believe the whole affair is merely a pretext to gain time or conceal efforts in another direction. Joan Obrevic has reason to remain passive for the present--his son is a prisoner in our hands. This son was one of the first to resist the attempt to force him into the military service, and unceremoniously shot the officer who commanded the detachment. This was the beginning of the bloody scenes which have since been so frequently repeated, but we at last succeeded in securing the assassin."

"The assassin--because he defended his liberty?"

"Because he treacherously shot the officer who stood quietly talking with him, expecting no attack--in civilized nations that is called assassination, Fräulein!"

Question and answer were equally sharp in tone, but Edith, who had been listening impatiently, now interposed.

"Dear me, do stop these political and military discussions! I'll make George my cavalier; he will at least try to entertain me, and not bore me with accounts of the insurrection."

The threat was probably not seriously meant, but Gerald seemed to understand it so, for he answered coldly:

"If you prefer George's company to mine I must of course submit."

Again that shrug of the shoulders and compassionate smile, which always enraged her. They did not fail to produce their effect to-day. She hastily drew bridle, turned, and called loudly:

"George, come here! We'll ride on before."

With these words she turned into a steep path that saved a long