ife in case of such a struggle.
Happily, however, the devotion and courage of my dear daughter and of her
gallant companion prevented such a necessity. It was strange to me to
find such joyous reception amongst my friends expressed in such a
whispered silence. There was no time for comment or understanding or the
asking of questions--I was fain to take things as they stood, and wait
for fuller explanation.

This came later, when my daughter and I were able to converse alone.

When the expedition went out against the Silent Tower, Teuta and I went
to her tent, and with us came her gigantic companion, who seemed not
wearied, but almost overcome with sleep. When we came into the tent,
over which at a little distance a cordon of our mountaineers stood on
guard, he said to me:

"May I ask you, sir, to pardon me for a time, and allow the Voivodin to
explain matters to you? She will, I know, so far assist me, for there is
so much work still to be done before we are free of the present peril.
For myself, I am almost overcome with sleep. For three nights I have had
no sleep, but all during that time much labour and more anxiety. I could
hold on longer; but at daybreak I must go out to the Turkish warship that
lies in the offing. She is a Turk, though she does not confess to it;
and she it is who has brought hither the marauders who captured both your
daughter and yourself. It is needful that I go, for I hold a personal
authority from the National Council to take whatever step may be
necessary for our protection. And when I go I should be clear-headed,
for war may rest on that meeting. I shall be in the adjoining tent, and
shall come at once if I am summoned, in case you wish for me before
dawn." Here my daughter struck in:

"Father, ask him to remain here. We shall not disturb him, I am sure, in
our talking. And, moreover, if you knew how much I owe to him--to his
own bravery and his strength--you would understand how much safer I feel
when he is close to me, though we are surrounded by an army of our brave
mountaineers."

"But, my daughter," I said, for I was as yet all in ignorance, "there are
confidences between father and daughter which none other may share. Some
of what has been I know, but I want to know all, and it might be better
that no stranger--however valiant he may be, or no matter in what measure
we are bound to him--should be present." To my astonishment, she who had
always been amenable to my