by P. Jones
CHAPTER XV
A COWARD'S VENGEANCE
When the _pobratim_ returned to Budua they found the whole towndivided into two camps, and, consequently, in a state of open war.Since the evening of the _karvarina_ two parties had formedthemselves, the Vranites and the Radonites. The first, indeed, werefew, and did not consist of friends of Vranic, but simply of peoplewho had a grudge, not only against Radonic, but against Bellacic andthe twenty-four men of the jury, who were accused of peculation. Onthe whole, public opinion was bitter against the tailor, for, afterhaving made peace with his enemy, he had tried to murder him; then--as if this had not been enough--he had gone on the morrow and givenwarning to the police that Radonic, who had cowardly murdered hisbrother, had returned to Budua, and was walking about the streetsunpunished; moreover, that the _heyduk_ had threatened to murder him,so he came to appeal for protection.
This happened when Budua had just been incorporated with the Austrianempire, and the people, jealous of their customs, looked upon theprotection of the government as an officious intermeddling with theirown private affairs, and strongly resented their being treated aschildren unable to act for themselves.
Although a few crimes had been left unpunished, simply not to rouseat once the general feeling against its present masters, still thenew jurisdiction was bent upon putting a stop to the practice of the_karvarina_; and to make this primitive country understand that,under a civilised form of government, people paid taxes to beprotected by wise and just laws; therefore, it was the duty of awell-regulated police to discover and punish equitably all offencesdone to any particular man.
In the present case, where notice was brought to the police of factsthat had happened, and aid was requested, steps had to be taken tosecure the person of the offender, and, therefore, to have Radonicarrested at once for manslaughter.
Friends, however, came at once to inform Radonic of what had takenplace, advising him to take flight, and put at once the bordermountains of Montenegro between himself and the Austrian police.
The officials gave themselves and, what was far worse, everybody elseno end of trouble and annoyance with Vranic's case. They went aboutarresting wrong persons, as a well-regulated police sometimes does,and then, after much bother and many cross-examinations, everyone wasset free, and the whole affair dropped.
Milena, who was slowly recovering from her long illness, was thefirst to be summoned to answer about her husband's crime. Bellacicwas after that accused of sheltering the murderer, and threatenedwith fines, confiscation, imprisonment and other such penalties;then he was also set free. The twenty-four men of the jury were nextsummoned; but, as they had only acted as peacemakers on behalf ofVranic, they, too, were reprimanded, and then sent about theirbusiness.
After this Vranic's partisans dwindled every day, till at last hefound himself shunned by everyone. Even his customers began toforsake him, and to have their clothes made by a more fortunatecompetitor. At last he could not go out in the streets without havingthe children scream out after him:
"Spy! spy! Austrian spy!"
The clergy belonging to the Orthodox faith looked upon the new lawagainst the _karvarina_ as an encroachment on their privileges. Atithe of the price of blood-money always went to the Church; sundrycandles had to be lighted to propitiate, not God or Christ, but someof the lower deities and mediators of the Christian creed. The law,which took from them all interference in temporal matters, was a blowto their authority and to their purses. Even if they were not beggedto act as arbitrators, they were usually invited as guests to thefeast, so that some pickings and perquisites were always to be got.
Vranic obtained no satisfaction from the police, to whom he hadapplied; he was only treated as a cur by the whole population, wasnearly excommunicated by the Church, and looked upon as an apostatefrom the saintly customs of the Iugo Slavs.
Taunted by his own family with having made a muddle of the wholeaffair, treated with scornful disdain by friends and foes, the poortailor, who had never been very good-tempered, had got to look uponall mankind as his enemies.
Thus it happened, one day, that Bellacic was at the coffee-house withMarkovic and some other friends, when Vranic came in to get shaved.
"What! do you shear poodles and curs?" he asked.
The loungers began to laugh. Vranic, whose face was being lathered,ground his teeth and grunted.
"I say, has he a medal round his neck?"
"What! do they give a medal to spies?" asked one of the men.
"No," quoth Bellacic; "but according to their law, no dog is allowedto go about without a medal, which proves that he has paid histaxes."
"Keep quiet," said the barber and _kafedgee_, "or I'll cut you!"
"Do government dogs also pay taxes?" said another man, smiling.
"Ask the cur! he'll tell you," replied Bellacic.
"Mind, Bellacic!" squeaked out Vranic, who was now shaved; "curs haveteeth!"
"To grind, or to grin with?"
"By St. George and St. Elias! I'll be revenged on all of you, and youthe very first!" and livid with rage, grinding his teeth, shaking hisfist, Vranic left the coffee-house, followed by the laughter of theby-standers, and the barking of the boys outside.
"He means mischief!" quoth the _kafedgee_.
"When did he not mean mischief," replied Markovic, "or his brothereither?"
"Don't speak of his brother."
"Why, he's dead and buried."
"The less you speak of some dead people, the better," and the_kafedgee_ crossed himself.
"He's a sly fox," said one of the men waiting to be shaved.
"Pooh! foxes are sometimes taken in by an old goose, as the storytells us."
Everybody knew the old story, but, as the barber was bent upontelling it, his customers were obliged to listen.
Once upon a time, there was a little silver-grey hen, that got intosuch an ungovernable fit of sulks, that she left the pleasantpoultry-yard where she had been born and bred, and escaped on to thehighway by a gap in the hedge. The reason of her ill-humour was thatshe had seen her lord and master flirt with a moulting old hatchinghen, and she had felt ruffled at his behaviour.
"Surely, the only advantage that old hen has over me," shesoliloquised, "is a greater experience of life. If I can but see alittle more of the world, I, too, might be able to discussphilosophical topics with my husband, instead of cackling noisilyover a new-laid egg. It is an undeniable fact that home-keeping henshave only homely wits, and cocks are only hen-pecked by hens ofloftier minds than themselves, and not by such common-place femaleswho think that life has no other aim than that of laying a fresh eggevery day."
On the other side of the hedge she met a large turkey struttinggravely about, spreading out his tail, making sundry gurgling noisesin his throat, puffing and swelling himself in an apoplectic way,until he got of a bluish, livid hue about his eyes, whilst his gillsgrew purple.
Surely, thought the little grey hen, that turkey must be a doctor ofdivinity who knows the aim of life; every word that falls from hisbeak must be a priceless pearl.
The little silver-grey hen looked at him with the corner of her eye,just as coquettish ladies are apt to do when they look at you overthe corners of their fans.
"I say, Mrs. Henny, whither are you bound, all alone?" said the oldturkey, with his round eyes.
"I am bent upon seeing a little of the world and improving my mind,"said the little hen.
"A most laudable intention," said the turkey; "and if you'll permitme, young madam, I myself will accompany, or rather, escort you inthis journey, tour, or excursion of yours. And if the littleexperience I have acquired can be of some slight use to you----"
"How awfully good of you!" said the gushing little hen. "Why, really,it would be too delightful!"
As they went on their way the old turkey at once informed the littlehen that he was a professor of the Dovecot University, and he at oncebegan to expatiate learnedly about adjectives, compounds, anomalousverbs, suffixes and pre
fixes, of objective cases and other suchinteresting topics. She listened to him for some time, although shecould not catch the drift of his speech. At last she came to theconclusion that all this must be transcendental philosophy, so sherepeated mechanically to herself all the grave words he spouted, andof the whole lecture she just made out a charming little phrase, withwhich she thought she would crush her husband some day or other. Itwas: "Don't run away with the idea that I'm anomalous enough to begoverned by objective cases, for, after all, what's a husband but aprefix?"
"And are you married?" asked the little hen, as soon as the turkeyhad stopped to take breath.
"I am," said the old turkey, with a sigh, "and although I have adozen wives, I must say I haven't yet found one sympathetic listeneramongst them."
"Are they worldly-minded?" asked she.
"They are frivolous, they think that the aim of life is laying eggs."
"Pooh!" said the little hen, scornfully.
As they went along, they met a gander, which looked at them from overa palisade.
"I say, where are you two off to?"
"We are bent upon seeing the world and improving our minds."
"How delightful. Now tell me, would it be intruding if I joined yourparty? I know they say: Two are company, and three are not, still----"
"They also say: The more the merrier," quoth the little hen.
The turkey blushed purple, but he managed to keep his temper.
They went on together, and the gander, who was a great botanist, toldthem the name of every plant they came across; and then he spoke verylearnedly with the turkey about Greek roots and Romance particles.
A little farther on they met a charming little drake with a killingcurled feather in his tail, quite an _accroche-coeur_, and the littlehen ogled him and scratched the earth so prettily with her feet thatat last she attracted the drake's notice.
After some cackling the little drake joined the tourists,notwithstanding the gurgling of the turkey and the hissing of thegander.
As they went on, they of course spoke of matrimony; the ganderinformed them that he was a bachelor, and the little drake added thathe was an apostle of free love, at which the little hen blushed, theturkey puffed himself up until he nearly burst, and the gander lookedgrave. The worst of it was, that the little drake insisted ondiscussing his theories and trying to make proselytes.
They were so intently attending to the little drake's wild theories,that they hardly perceived a hare standing on his hind legs, with hisears pricked up, listening to and looking at them.
The hare, having heard that they were globe-trotters, bent uponseeing the world and improving their minds, joined their party atonce; they even, later on, took with them a tortoise and a hedgehog.At nightfall, they arrived in a dense forest, where they found alarge hollow tree, in the trunk of which they all took shelter.
The little hen ensconced herself in a comfortable corner, and thedrake nestled close by her; the hare lay at her feet, and the ganderand turkey on either side. The tortoise and the hedgehog huddledthemselves up and blocked up the opening, keeping watch lest harmshould befall them.
They passed the greater part of the night awake, telling each otherstories; and as it was in the dark, the tales they told were such ascould not well be repeated in the broad daylight.
Soon, however, the laughter was more subdued; the chuckling evenstopped. Sundry other noises instead were heard; then the drowsyvoices of the story-tellers ceased; they had all fallen fast asleep.
Just then, while the night wind was shivering through the boughs, andthe moon was silvering the boles of the ash-trees, or changing intodiamonds the drops of dew in the buttercups and bluebells, a youngvixen invited a shaggy wolf to come and have supper with her.
"This," she said, stopping before the hollow tree, "is my larder. Youmust take pot-luck, for I'm sure I don't know what there is in it.Still, it is seldom empty."
The wolf tried to poke his nose in, but he was stopped by thetortoise.
"They have rolled a stone at the door," said the wolf.
"So they have; but we can cast it aside," quoth the vixen.
They tried to push the tortoise aside; but he clung to the sides ofthe tree with his claws, so that it was impossible to remove him.
"Let's get over the stone," said the wolf.
They did their best to get over the tortoise, but they were met bythe hedgehog.
"They've blocked up the place with brambles and thorns," said thevixen.
"So they have," replied the wolf.
"What's to be done?" asked the one.
"What's to be done?" replied the other.
"I hear rascally robbers rummaging around," gurgled the turkey-cock,in a deep, low tone.
"Did you hear that?" asked the wolf.
"Yes," said the vixen, rather uneasy.
"We'll catch them, we'll catch them," cackled the hen.
"For we are six, we are six," echoed the drake.
"There are six of them," said the vixen.
"And we are only two," retorted the wolf.
"So they'll catch us," added the vixen.
"Nice place your larder is," snarled the wolf.
"I'm afraid the police have got into it," stammered the vixen.
"Hiss, hiss, hiss!" uttered the gander, from within.
"That's the scratch of a match," said the vixen.
"If they see us we are lost," answered the wolf.
Just then the turkey, who had puffed himself up to his utmost,exploded with a loud puff.
"Firearms," whispered the wolf.
"It's either a mine or a bomb," quoth the vixen.
"Dynamite," faltered the wolf.
They did not wait to hear anything else; but, in their terror, theyturned on their heels and scampered off as fast as their legs couldcarry them. In a twinkling they were both out of sight.
The travellers in the hollow tree laughed heartily; then theyreturned to their corners and went off to sleep. On the morrow, atdaybreak, they resumed their wanderings, and I daresay they aretravelling still, for it takes a long time to go round the world.
A few days afterwards Bellacic went to visit one of his vineyards.This, of all his land, was his pride and his boast. He had, besides,spent much money on it, for all the vines had been brought from AsiaMinor, and the grapes were of a quality far superior to those whichgrew all around. The present crop was already promising to be a veryfair one.
On reaching the first vines, Bellacic was surprised to perceive thatall the leaves were limp, withering or dry. The next vines were evenin a worse condition. He walked on, and, to his horror, he perceivedthat the whole of his vineyard was seared and blasted, as if warmsummer had all at once changed into cold, bleak, frosty winter. Everystem had been cut down to the very roots. Gloomy and disconsolate hewalked about, with head bent down, kicking every vine as he went on;all, all were fit for firewood now. It was not only a heavy loss ofmoney, it was something worse. All his hopes, his pride, seemed to becrushed, humbled by it. He had loved this vineyard almost as much ashis wife or his son, and now it was obliterated from the surface ofthe earth.
Had it been the work of Nature or the will of God, he would havebowed his head humbly, and said: "Thy will be done"; but he wasexasperated to think that this had all been the work of a man--thevengeance of a coward--a craven-hearted rascal that, after all, hehad never harmed, for this could be only Vranic's doing. In hispassion he felt that if he had held the dastard at that moment, hewould have crushed him under his feet like a reptile.
As Bellacic slowly arrived at the other end of the vineyard, he feltthat just then he could not retrace his steps and cross the whole ofhis withering vines once more. He stopped there for a few moments,and looked around; then it seemed to him as if he had seen a mancrouch down and disappear behind the bushes.
Could it be Vranic coming to gloat over him and enjoy his revenge? orwas it not an image of his over-heated imagination?
He stood stock-still for a while, but n
othing moved. He went slowlyon, and then he heard a slight rustling noise. He advanced, crouchinglike a cat or a tiger, with fixed, dilated eyes and pricked-up ears.He saw the bushes move, he heard the sound of footsteps; then he sawthe figure of a man bending low and running almost on all fours, soas not to be seen.
It was Vranic; now he could be clearly recognised. Bellacic ran afterhim; Vranic ran still faster. All at once he caught his foot on aroot that had shot through the earth; he stumbled and fell downheavily. As he rose, Bellacic came up to him.
"Villain, scoundrel, murderer! is it you who----? Yes, it could be noother dog than you! Moreover, you wanted to see how they looked."
"What?" said Vranic, ghastly pale, trembling from head to foot."What?--I really don't know what you mean."
"Do you say that you haven't cut down my vines?"
"_I_ cut your vines? What vines?"
"Have, at least, the courage of your cowardly deeds, you sneak."
Thereupon Bellacic gave him a blow which made him reel. Vranic beganto howl, and to take all the saints as witnesses of his innocence.
"Stop your lies, or I'll pluck that vile tongue of yours out of yourmouth, and cast it in your face!"
Vranic thereupon took out his knife and tried to stab Bellacic. Thetwo men fought.
"Is that the knife with which you cut my vines?"
"No; I kept it for you," replied Vranic, aiming a deadly blow at hisadversary.
Bellacic parried the blow, and in the scuffle which ensued Vranicdropped his knife as his antagonist overpowered him and knocked himdown.
Although Vranic was struggling with all his might, he was no matchfor Bellacic, who pinned him down and managed to pick up the dagger.
"You have cut down all my vines; now you yourself 'll have a taste ofyour own knife."
"Mercy! mercy! Do not kill me!"
"No, no; I'll not kill you," said Bellacic, kneeling down upon him;then, bending over him and catching hold of his right ear, he, with aquick, firm hand, severed it at a stroke.
Vranic was howling loud enough to be heard miles off.
"Now for the other," said Bellacic. "I'll nail them to a post in myvineyard as a scarecrow for future vermin of your kind."
Vranic, however, wriggled, and, with an effort, managed to rise; thenhe took to his heels, holding his bleeding head and yelling with painand fear.
Bellacic made no attempt to stop him, or cut off his other ear, as hehad threatened to do; he quietly walked away, perfectly satisfiedwith the punishment he had inflicted on the scoundrel. Instead ofreturning home he thought it more prudent to go and spend the nightin the neighbouring convent, and thus avoid any conflict with thepolice.
Bellacic, who had ever been generous to the monks, was now welcomedby the brotherhood; the best wine was brought forth and a lay servantwas at once despatched to town to find out what Vranic had done, and,on the morrow, one of the friars themselves went to reconnoitre andto inform Mara that her husband was safe and in perfect health.
Upon that very day the _Spera in Dio_ cast anchor in the harbour ofBudua, and Uros reached home just when the police had come to arresthis father for having cut off Vranic's ear; and the confusion thatensued can hardly be described.
For the sake of doing their duty, the guards, who were Buduans, madea pretence of looking for Bellacic; they knew very well that he wouldnot be silly enough to wait till they came to arrest him.
Mara, like all women in such an emergency, was thoroughly upset tosee the police in her house. She threw her arms round her son, andbegged him to keep quiet, and not to interfere in the matter, lesttheir new masters' wrath should be visited upon him. Anyhow, as thepolice tried to make themselves as little obnoxious as they possiblycould, and as they went through their duties with as much grace, andas little zeal, as possible, Uros did not interfere to prevent themfrom discharging their unpleasant task.
The poor mother wept for joy at seeing her son, and for grief at thethought that her husband was an exile from his house at his time oflife; but just then the good friar came in and brought news fromBellacic, and comforted the family, saying that in a very few daysthe whole affair would be quieted, and their guest would be able tocome back home.
"And will he remain with you all that time?" asked Mara.
"We should be very pleased to have him," replied the friar; "but forhis sake and ours, it were better for him to cross the mountain andremain at Cettinje till the storm has blown over."
"And when does he start?"
"This evening."
"May I come and see him before he goes?" asked Mara.
"Certainly, and if you wish to go at once, I'll wait here a littlewhile longer, just not to awaken suspicion."
Mara, therefore, went off at once, and the friar followed her aquarter of an hour afterwards.
Uros, on seeing Milena, felt as if he were suffocating; his heartbegan to beat violently, and then it seemed to stop. He, for amoment, gasped for breath. She, too, only recovering from herillness, felt faint at seeing him.
Uros found her looking handsomer and younger than before; hercomplexion was so pale, her skin so transparent, that her eyes notonly looked much larger, but bluer and more luminous than ever. ToUros they seemed rather like the eyes of an angel than those of awoman. Her fingers were so long and thin; her hand was of a lilywhiteness, as it nestled in Uros' brown, brawny and sunburnt one.
All her sprightliness was gone; the roguish smile had vanished fromher lips. Not only her features, but her voice had also changed; itwas now so pure, so weak, so silvery in its sound; so veiled withal,like a voice coming from afar and not from the person sitting by you.It was as painful to hear as if it had been a voice from beyond thegrave, and it sent a pang to the young man's heart.
As he put his arm around her frail waist, the tears rose to his eyes,and he could hardly find the words, or utter them softly enough, tosay to her: "Milena, _srce moja_," (my heart) "do you still love me?"
"Hush, Uros!" said she, shuddering; "never speak to me of loveagain."
"Milena!"
"Yes," continued she, sighing, "my sin has found me out. Had Ibehaved as I should have done, so many people would not have come togrief. Vranic might still have been alive."
"But you never gave him any encouragement, did you?" said Uros,misunderstanding her meaning.
The tears started to her eyes. Weak as she was, she felt everythingacutely.
"Do you think I could have done such a thing? And yet you are right;I used to be so light once; but that seems to me so long, so verylong ago. But I have grown old since then, terribly old; I havesuffered so much."
"I was wrong, dearest; forgive me. I remember how that fiendpersecuted you. I was near sending him to hell myself, and it was apity I didn't; anyhow, I was so glad when I heard that Radonichad----"
"Hush! I was the cause of that man's death. Through it my husbandbecame an outcast, and now your father has been obliged to flee fromhis home----"
"How can you blame yourself for all these things? It is only becauseyou have been so ill and weak that you have got such fancies intoyour head; but now that I am here, and you know how much I loveyou----"
She shuddered spasmodically, and a look of intense pain andwretchedness came over her features.
"Never speak of love any more, unless you wish to kill me."
Uros looked at her astonished.
"I know that in all this I am entirely to blame; but if a woman canatone for her sin by suffering, I think----"
"Then you do not love me any more?" asked Uros, dejectedly.
She looked up into his eyes, and, in that deep and earnest glance ofhers, she seemed to give up her soul to him. If months ago she hadloved him with all the levity of a reckless child, now she loved himwith all the pathos of a woman.
Uros caught her in his arms and pressed her to his heart. She leanedher head on his shoulder, as if unable to keep it upright; an ashypaleness spread itself over all her features, her very lips lost alltheir colour, her eyelids
drooped; she had fainted. Uros, terrified,thought she was dying, nay, dead.
"Milena, my love, my angel, speak to me, for Heaven's sake!" hecried.
After a few moments, however, she slowly began to recover, and thenburst into a hysteric fit of sobbing.
When at last she came again to her senses, she begged Uros never tospeak to her of love, as that would be her death.
"Besides," added she, "now that I am better, I shall return to myparents, for I can never go back to that dreadful house of mine. Icould never cross its threshold again."
Uros was dismayed. He had been looking forward to his return withsuch joy, and now that he was back, the woman he worshipped was aboutto flee from him.
"Do not look so gloomy," said she, trying to cheer him; "rememberthat----"
Her faltering, weak voice died in her throat; she could not bringherself to finish her phrase.
"What?" asked Uros, below his breath.
"That I'm another man's wife."
"Oh, Milena! don't say such horrible things; it's almost likeblasphemy."
"And still it's true; besides----"
Her voice, which had become steady, broke down again.
"Besides what?" said Uros, after a moment's pause, leaving her timeto breathe.
"You'll be a husband yourself, some day," she added in an undertone.
"Never," burst forth Uros, fiercely, "unless I am your husband."
"Hush!" said she, shuddering with fear and crossing herself. "Yourfather wishes you to marry, and--I wish it too," she added in awhisper.
"No, you don't, Milena; that's a lie," he replied, passionately."Could you swear it on the holy Cross?"
"Yes, Uros, if it's for your good, I wish it, too. You know thatI----"
Her pale face grew of deep red hue; even her hands flushed as theblood rushed impetuously upwards.
"Well?" asked Uros, anxiously.
"That I love you far more than I do myself."
He clasped her in his arms tenderly, and kissed her shoulders, notdaring to kiss her lips.
"Would it be right for me to marry a young girl whom I do not love,when all my soul is yours?"
"Still," said she, shuddering, "our love is a sin before God andman."
"Why did you not tell me so when I first knew you? Then, perhaps, Imight not have loved you."
Milena's head sank down on her bosom, her eyes filled with tears,there was a low sound in her throat. Then, in a voice choking withsobs, she said:
"You are right, Uros; I was to blame, very much to blame. I was asthoughtless as a child; in fact, I was a child, and I only wanted tobe amused. But since then I have grown so old. Lying ill in bed,almost dying, I was obliged to think of all the foolish things I saidand did, so----"
"So you do not love me any more," he said, abruptly; but seeing thelook of sorrow which shadowed Milena's face, he added: "My heart,forgive me; it is only my love for you that makes me so peevish. Whenyou ask me to forget you----"
"And still you must try and do so. The young girl your father haschosen for you----"
"Loves some one else," interrupted Uros.
Milena looked up with an expression of joy she vainly tried tocontrol. The young man thereupon told her the mistake which had takenplace, and all that had happened the last time he and his friend hadbeen at Zara.
"Giulianic has taken a solemn oath that I shall never marry hisdaughter, and as Milenko is in love with her, I hope my father willrelease his friend from the promise----"
Just then the door opened, and Mara came in.
"Well, mother," said Uros, "what news do you bring to us?"
"Your father is safe, my boy. He left this morning for Montenegro; bythis time he must have crossed the border. On the whole, the policetried to look for him where they knew they could not find him. Heleft word that he wishes to see you very much, and begs you to go upto Cettinje as soon as you can."
"I'll go and see Milenko, so that he may take sole charge of theship, and then I'll start this very evening."
"No, child, there is no such hurry! Rest to-night; you can leaveto-morrow, or the day after."
Having seen Milenko, and entrusted the ship for a few days entirelyto him, Uros started early on the next morning for the blackmountains.
Mara could hardly tear herself away from him. She had been waiting soeagerly for his arrival, and now, when he had come home, she wasobliged to part from him.
"Do not stay there too long, for then you will only return to start,and I'll have scarcely seen you."
"No, I'll only stay there one or two days, no more."
"And then I hope you'll not mix up in any quarrel. I'm so sorryyou've come back just now."
"Come, mother," said Uros, smiling pleasantly as he stood on thedoorstep before starting, "what harm can befall me? I haven't mixedup in any of the _karvarina_ business, nor am I running away as anoutlaw; if we have some enemies they are all here, not there. Isuppose I'll find father at Zwillievic's or some other friend'shouse. Your fears are quite unfounded, are they not?"
All Uros said was quite true, but still his mother refused to becomforted. As he bade Milena good-bye, "Remember!" she whispered tohim, and she slipped back into her room.
Did she wish him to remember that she was Radonic's wife?
Uros thereupon started with a heavy heart; everybody seemed to havechanged since he had left Budua.
The early morning was grey and cloudy, and although Uros was veryfond of his father, and anxious to see him, still he was loth toleave his home.
At the town gate Uros met Milenko, who had come to walk part of theway with him. Uros, who was thinking of his mother and especially ofMilena, had quite forgotten his bosom friend. Seeing him sounexpectedly, his heart expanded with a sudden movement of joy, andhe felt at that moment as if they had met after having been partedfor ages.
"Well?" asked Milenko, as they walked along. "Do you remember when wefirst started from Budua, we thought that we'd have reached theheight of happiness the day we'd sail on our own ship?"
"I remember."
"The ship is almost our own, and happiness is farther off than ever."
"Wait till we come back next voyage, and things might look quitedifferent then."
The sun just then began to dawn; the dark and frowning mountains lostall their grimness as a pale golden halo lighted up their tops;drowsy nature seemed to awake with a smile, and looked like a rosyinfant does when, on opening its eyes, it sees its mother's beamingface.
The two friends walked on. Uros spoke of the woman he loved, andMilenko listened with a lover's sympathy.
Milenko walked with his friend for about two hours; then he bade Urosgood-bye, promising him to go at once to his mother and Milena, andtell them how he was faring.
Uros began to climb up the rugged path leading towards Montenegro.After a quarter of an hour, the two friends stopped, shouted "Ahoy!"to each other, waved their hands and then resumed their walk. Towardsnightfall Uros reached the village where Zwillievic lived.
With a beating heart, sore feet and aching calves he trudged ontowards the house, which, as he hoped, was to be the goal of hisjourney. As he pushed the door open he shuddered, thinking thatinstead of his father he might happen to find Milena's husband.
The apartment into which he entered was a large and rather low room,serving as a kitchen, a parlour, a dining and a sleeping room. Itwas, in fact, the only room of the house. Its walls were cleanlywhitewashed; not a speck of dust could be seen anywhere, nor a cobwebamidst the rafters in the ceiling. The inner part was used forsleeping purposes, for against the walls on either side there weretwo huge beds. By the beds, two boxes--one of plain deal, like thechests used by sailors; the other, made of cypress-wood and quaintlycarved--contained the family linen. In the middle of the room stood arough, massive table, darkened and polished by daily use, and somethree-legged stools around it. The walls were decorated with the realwealth of the family--weapons of every shape, age and kind. Shortguns, the butt ends of which wer
e all inlaid with mother-of-pearl;long carbines with silver incrustations; modern rifles andfowling-pieces; swords, scimitars, daggers, yatagans; pistols andblunderbusses with niello and filigree silver-work, gemmed likejewels or church ornaments. These trophies were heirlooms ofcenturies. Over one of the beds there was a silver- and gold-platedByzantine icon, over the other a hideous German print of St. George.The Prince of Cappadocia, who was killing a grass-green dragon, worefor the occasion a yellow mantle, a red doublet and blue tights.Under each of these images there was a fount of holy water and alittle oil-lamp.
As Uros stepped in, Milena's mother, who was standing by the hearth,preparing the supper, turned round to see who had just come in. Shelooked at him, but as he evidently was a stranger to her, she came upa step or two towards him.
"Good evening, _domacica_," for she was not only the lady of thehouse, but the wife of the head of the family and the chief of theclan, or tribe.
"Good evening, _gospod_," said she, hesitatingly.
"You do not know me, I think. I am a kind of cousin of yours, UrosBellacic."
"What, is it you, my boy? I might have known you by your likeness toyour mother; but when I saw you last you were only a little child,and now you are quite a grown-up man," added she, looking at him withmotherly fondness. "Have you walked all the way from Budua?"
"Yes, I left home this morning."
"Then you must be tired. Come and sit down, my boy."
"I am rather tired; you see, we sailors are not accustomed to walkmuch. But tell me first, have you seen my father? Is he staying withyou?"
"Yes, he came yesterday. He is out just now, but he'll soon be backwith Zwillievic. Sit down and rest," said she, "and let me give yousome water to wash, for you must be travel-sore and dusty."
As Uros sat down, she, after the Eastern fashion, bent to unlace his_opanke_; but he, unaccustomed to be waited upon by women, would notallow her to perform such a menial act for him.
He had hardly finished his ablutions when his father and the_gospodar_ came in. Seeing his son, Bellacic stretched out his armsand clasped him to his heart. Then they began talking about all thathad taken place since they had seen each other; and, supper beingserved, Uros, while he ate with a good appetite, related all theadventures of his seafaring life, and did his best to keep his fatheramused. At the end of the meal, when everyone was in a good-humour,the pipes being lit and the _raki_ brought forth, he told them howMilenko had fallen in love with the girl who ought to have been hisbride, how she reciprocated his affection, and the many complicationsthat followed, until Giulianic swore, in great wrath, that he, Uros,should never marry his daughter. Although this part of the story didnot amuse the father as much as it did the rest of the company, stillit was related with such graphic humour that he could not helpjoining in the laughter.
On the morrow, Bellacic, wanting to have a quiet talk with his son,proposed that they should go and see a little of the country, and,perhaps, meet Radonic, who was said to be coming back from theneighbourhood of Scutari.
As they walked on, Bellacic spoke of his lost vineyard, and of hisrashness in cutting off Vranic's ear; then he added:
"Remember, now that you are going back to Budua, you must promise methat, as long as you are there, you'll not mix up in this stupid_karvarina_ business. I know that I am asking much, for if we old menare hasty, recommending you who are young and hot-headed to be coolis like asking the fire not to burn, or the sun not to shine; still,for your mother's sake and for mine, you'll keep aloof from thosereptiles of Vranics, will you not?"
Uros promised to do his best and obey.
"I'd have liked to see you married and settled in life," and Bellaciccast a questioning glance at his son.
Uros looked down and twisted the ends of his short and crispmoustache.
"It is true you are very young still; it is we--your mother and I--who are getting old."
Uros continued to walk in silence by his father's side.
"If Ivanka is in love with your friend, and Giulianic is willing togive her to him, I am not the man to make any objections. The onlything I'd like to know is whether it is solely for Milenko's sakethat you acted as you did."
Uros tried to speak, but the words he would utter stuck in histhroat.
"Then it is as I thought," added Bellacic, seeing his son'sconfusion; "you love some one else."
Uros looked up at his father for all reply.
"Answer me," said Bellacic, tenderly.
"Yes," said the young man, in a whisper.
"A young girl?"
"No."
"A married woman?" asked the father, lifting his brows with a look ofpain in his eyes.
"Yes."
"A relation of ours?"
"Yes."
"Milena?"
Uros nodded.
Just then, as they turned the corner of the road, they met a crowd ofmen coming towards them; it was a band of blood-stained Montenegrinsreturning from an encounter with the Turks. They were bearing awounded man upon a stretcher.
"Milena would have been the girl your mother and I might have chosenfor your bride; and, indeed, we have learnt to love her as adaughter; but fate has decreed otherwise."
They now came up to the foremost man of the band.
"Who is wounded?" asked Bellacic of him.
"Radonic," answered he.
"Is the wound a bad one?"
"He is dying!" replied the Montenegrin, in a whisper.
