The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

by P. Jones

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE FACE IN THE MIRROR

  A few days after Radonic had been brought back dying, Uros waswalking down the mountain path leading from the heights of Montenegroto the Dalmatian coast. He was even in higher spirits than he wasusually wont to be.

  His father had accompanied him to the frontier, and on the way he hadopened his heart to him, and told him of his love for Milena, andeven obtained his consent for his marriage, which might take place assoon as her widowhood was over. Bellacic, moreover, had promised towrite to his friend, Giulianic, to release him from his pledge.

  The day, as it dawned now, was a glorious one, bright, clear andfresh. After the storm and rain of the day before, the dark crags ofthe Cernagora seemed but newly created, or only just arisen out ofthe glittering waters that stretched down below in a translucent,misty mass of sluggish streams flowing through a cloudy ocean.

  The breeze that blew from the mountain-tops seemed to him like someexhilarating, life-giving fluid. Exercise--not prolonged as yet--rendered his senses of enjoyment keener; he felt happy with himselfand with the world at large. He was in one of those rare moods inwhich a man would like the earth to be a human being, so as to claspit fondly to his breast, as he does a child, or the woman he loves.

  Although he did not rejoice at Radonic's death, still, as he lovedMilena, it was natural that he was glad the obstacle to his happinesshad been removed, and a wave of joy seemed to rise from his heartupwards as his nerves tingled with excitement at the thought that ina few months she might be his wife.

  Therefore, with his blithe and merry character, ever prone to look onthe bright side of life, it is easy to imagine his buoyancy ofspirits as he walked down to Budua. Every step was bringing himnearer her; before the sun had reached its zenith he would be athome, clasping her in his arms; she--Milena--would be his for ever,and he crossed his arms and hugged himself in his excited state ofmind.

  Then he began to imagine Milenko's delight when he would hear thathe, too, could marry the girl he loved.

  It is not to be wondered at that he thought the earth a gooddwelling-place, and that life--taking it on the whole--was not onlyworth living, but very pleasant besides. It is true, he said tohimself, that man sometimes mars the work of God with his passions;still, _karvarinas_ were the clouds of life, enhancing the beauty ofthe bright days which followed sudden showers. Sullen and maliciousmen like Vranic and his brood were buzzing insects, more tedious thanharmful to their fellow-creatures.

  Such were the thoughts that flitted through his mind as he walkedbriskly along, singing as blithely as a lark. As he had, the daybefore, sent word to Milenko that he would be back on the morrow, hestopped at every turn of the road, and, shading his eyes with hishand, he looked down the road, hoping to see his friend's gracefulfigure coming to meet him, as was sure to be the case.

  He had never been separated from Milenko for so many days, and nowthat he was about to see him, his longing seemed to increase at everystep.

  As for Milenko, being of a more sensitive character, and havingremained on board, he had missed his friend even more keenly thanUros had done. He would have started to meet him at early dawn, buthe had been obliged to remain behind and look after the ship's cargo,that had been delayed the evening before on account of some triflingincident--for, sometimes, things of no importance in themselves leadto the most dreadful calamities. Likewise, the string of one ofMilenko's shoes broke, so he stopped to tie it; after some steps itbroke again. He stopped once more, pulled off his shoe, unlaced it,tied the string as well as he could. After a quarter of an hour thestring of the other shoe broke too; he had again to stop and mend it.More than five minutes was thus lost; besides, the loose strings notonly made him linger, but even slacken his pace.

  Uros went down singing snatches of some merry song, little thinkingthat the delay in meeting his friend would almost cost him his life.

  The news of Radonic's death had soon been spread about Budua, and he,who had never been a favourite during his lifetime, became a heroafter death. The Samson-like way in which he had fought was extolled,the number of wounds he had received, the hundreds of Turks he hadkilled went on daily increasing. His dauntless courage, his boldfeats, his cunningness in council were becoming legendary; in fact,he was for some time a second Marko Kraglievic. The Vranite party--especially after the night of the burying-ground affair--haddwindled into nothing. The Radonites ruled the day.

  Earless Vranic, as he was called everywhere, was galled by hisdefeat; his envious, jealous disposition could find no rest. Being,moreover, doomed to a certain death, he found himself like a stag atbay, and he almost felt at times the courage of despair.

  The radiant day which followed the dreadful night when the vampireappeared to him brought no change to Vranic's gloom. He was too muchlike a night-bird now to feel any pleasure at the sight of the sunlitsky. Like an owl he shunned the light, and only prowled about whenevery man had shut himself up in his house. He dreaded the sight of ahuman face on account of the scowl of hatred he was sure to seethere, for he knew that everyone looked upon him not as a man, but asthe bloodsucker he would soon become.

  Having recovered from his fainting-fit after the visit of the_voukoudlak_, he almost lost his senses again, seeing the blackdagger on the table in front of him. With a fluttering heart, andaching head and tottering limbs, he walked about his room, askinghimself what he should do and how he could escape the wretchedness ofhis present life. Suicide never came into his head, for, in spite ofall his misery, life still was dear to him. The best thing would,perhaps, be to leave Budua for a short time, and thus frustrate thevampire.

  As he had to go and pay the priest for the ceremony of the exorcism,he decided to ask, and perhaps take, his advice upon what he was todo and where he should go. He went grudgingly, indeed, to pay a largesum of money for a ceremony which had been of no avail, and althoughit had not been the priest's fault if the ghost had not been killed,still the money was being thrown away, for all that.

  Before leaving the house, he took the black dagger, washed andscrubbed it with fine sand to cleanse it from the offensive smell ithad, then he put it in his breast pocket, where he had had it somenights before. With heavy steps he trudged towards the priest's houseat dawn, before the people of the town were up and about the streets.The priest, who was an early riser, had just got up. Vranic, withunwilling hands, undid the strings of his purse, and counted out,with many a sigh, the sum agreed upon, for the priest would not batea single cent. Then Vranic, with his eyes gloating on the silverdollars, told the clergyman how the vampire had appeared to him andovercome him.

  "Aye," said the priest, "I was afraid that would be the case."

  "And now I'd like to leave the town, for I might thus avoid thevampire."

  "The best thing you could do."

  "Yes, but where am I to go in order to escape the ghost?"

  "I think the best place for you is the Convent of St. George. Surelythe spectre 'll not follow you there in those hallowed walls, amongstall those saintly men."

  "Yes, but will the brotherhood receive me?"

  "Tell them that I sent you. Moreover, I'll call myself during the dayand speak to them. May I add that, perhaps, you'll be induced to turncaloyer yourself some day or other. Meanwhile, a little charity tothe convent would render your stay more agreeable. You know thebrotherhood is poor."

  Vranic thanked the priest, and promised to be guided by his advice;still, he could not help thinking of all the money this new schememight cost him. It is true, if he turned friar, he might get rid ofthe vampire, but would he not also lose all his money into thebargain?

  Which was the greater evil of the two--to be sucked of all his blood,or drained of all his money?

  Out of the town gate, far from the haunts and scowling faces of men,he breathed a little more at ease. Were they not all a set ofgrasping, covetous ghouls, whose only aim was to wrench all he hadfrom him? The dazzling sunshine and the dancing waves, far fromsoothing him, o
nly irritated him, for he fancied that all the worldwas blithe, merry and happy, and he alone was miserable. He thoughthow happy he, too, might have been had that cursed _karvarina_ nottaken place. He had never felt any deep hatred against Radonic, norhad he any real reason for disliking him; for, to be true to himself,his brother's murder had been an incident, not an accident, in hislife. It was not Radonic's fault if the ghost-seer had become avampire after his death. All his grudge was rather against Bellacic,who had helped to frustrate him of a good round sum of money, owed tohim for his brother's blood. He hated him especially for havinginflicted a bodily and moral wound by cutting off his ear, renderinghim thus an object of everlasting scorn in the whole town.

  Radonic was dead, but Bellacic lived to triumph over him. If he couldonly wreak his vengeance upon him he might pacify the vampire's rage;if not, he could always make his escape into the convent. With thesethoughts in his head, he clutched the handle of the dagger and, as hedid so, he shivered from head to foot with a kind of hellish delight.

  Just then he fancied he heard a distant chuckle and looked round. Hecould see nobody. It was only his imagination. Almost at the sametime he heard a voice whisper softly in his ear:

  "Use this dagger against my enemies better than you did against me,and then, perhaps, you might be free."

  Was it his brother ordering him what he was to do? Instead ofstopping at the convent, should he go on to Montenegro, waylayBellacic and murder him?

  He had been walking, or rather, crawling quietly on, for about twohours; the sun was high up in the sky, the day was hot, the roaddusty, and, worn out by sleeplessness, by worry and, above all, bythe great loss of blood, he was now overcome by weariness andweakness. The monastery was at last in sight; still, he felt as if hecould hardly crawl any further on; so, undecided as he was, he satdown at the side of some laurel-bushes to rest and make up his mindas to what he was to do.

  He had not been sitting there a quarter of an hour, blinking at thesun, like an owl, when he heard snatches of an unknown song, waftedfrom afar. It was not one of the plaintive lays of his own country,but a lively, blithe Italian canzonet, with trills that sounded likethe merry warbling of a lark. The singing stopped--it began again,then stopped once more; after that he heard a light, brisk stepcoming towards him. A man who could sing and walk in such a way mustsurely be happy, he thought. Then, without knowing who the man was,he hated him for being happy. Why should some people have all thesweetness, and others all the gall of life? he asked himself. Is notthis world a fool's paradise for him and a dungeon for me? In mywretchedness he seems to taunt me with his mirth. Well, if ever Ibecome a vampire, the first blood I'll suck is that man's; and I'lldrain the very last drop, for it must be warm and sweet.

  Just then the light-hearted singer passed by the laurel-bushes,without perceiving the owl-like man half hidden behind them. Vranic,lifting up his head, saw the flushed face, the sparkling eyes, thered and parted lips of his enemy's son--the youth who, by his beautyand his criminal love, had been the cause of all the mischief. Had itnot been for him, his brother would probably not have been murdered,and, what was far worse, become a _voukoudlak_. Instinctively heclasped the handle of his dagger, and the words he had heard a littlewhile before rang once more in his ears, urging him to make good useof the knife now that an opportunity offered itself. Besides, wouldnot his revenge be a far keener one in killing this young man, hisfather's only son, than in murdering Bellacic himself? This was real_karvarina_, and his lost ear would be dearly paid for.

  Uplifted by a strength which was not his own, urged on almostunconsciously, Vranic jumped up and ran after the merry youth.

  Uros just at that moment had perceived Milenko at a distance, and,hurrying down to meet him, he, in his joy, had not heard the fiendspring like a tiger from behind the bush and rush at him withuplifted knife.

  Milenko, seeing Vranic appear all at once, with a dagger in his hand,stopped, uplifted both his hands, and uttered a loud cry of terror,threat and anger.

  Uros, for an instant, could not understand what was happening; buthearing someone running after him, and already close to his heels, heturned round, and to his horror he saw Josko Vranic scowling at him.The face, with its blinking eyes and all its nerves twitchingfrightfully, had a fierce and fiendish expression--it was, in fact,just as he had seen it in the glass on New Year's Eve, at the fatalstroke of twelve.

  A moment of overpowering superstitious terror came over Uros; he knewthat his last hour had arrived. In his distracted state, Uros hadonly time to lift up his arm in an attitude of self-defence, butVranic was already upon him, plunging the sharp-pointed blade in hisbreast. The youth uttered a low, muffled groan, staggered, put hishands instinctively to the deep gash, as if to stop the blood fromall rushing out; then he fell senseless on the ground.

  Vranic plucked the poniard out of the wound mechanically; his armfell heavily of its own weight. Then, struck with a sudden terror,not because he saw Milenko rushing up, but because he was bewilderedat what he had so rashly done, he, after standing quite still for amoment, turned round and fled.

  Milenko had already rushed to his friend's side; he was clasping himin his arms, lifting him up with the tender fondness of a mothernursing a sickly babe. Alas! all his loving care seemed vain; thepoint of the dagger must have entered within his heart, and death hadbeen instantaneous.

  Milenko did not lose his presence of mind for an instant; nor did hetry to run after the murderer. He took off his broad sash which hewore as a belt, tore up his shirt, rolled a smooth stone in the rag,and with this pad (to stop up the blood) he bandaged up the wound astightly as he possibly could. Then he took up his friend in his arms,and although Uros was a heavier weight than himself, still his lifeof a sailor had strengthened his muscles to such a degree that hecarried his burden, if not with ease, at least, not with too greatdifficulty, down to the neighbouring convent.

  It was well known in town that some of the holy men were versed inmedicine, and especially that the secret of composing salves, and theknowledge of simples with which to heal deadly wounds, wastransmitted by one friar on his death-bed to another. Still, whenMilenko had laid down his friend upon a bed, the wisest of these wisemen shook their heads gravely and declared the case to be a desperateone. The head surgeon said that, if life were not already extinct--asMilenko had believed--still the youth's recovery could only bebrought about by a miracle, for he was already beyond all human help.

  Milenko felt his legs giving way. A cold, damp draught seemed to blowon his face.

  "He might," continued the old man, "last some hours; he might evenlinger on for some days."

  "Anyhow," added another caloyer, "we have time to administer the HolySacrament and prepare him for heaven."

  "Oh, yes! there is time for that," quoth the doctor, shrugging hisshoulders; "but, before the wine and bread, I'll prepare thecathartic water with which to wash the wound, for while there is lifea doctor must not give up hope."

  "Then," said Milenko, falteringly, "I can leave him to your care, andrun and fetch his mother; he'll not pass away till my return?"

  "Not if you make every possible haste."

  "You promise?"

  "He is in God's hands, my son."

  With a heavy heart, and with the tears ever trickling down hischeeks, Milenko ran down the mountain, and all the way from theconvent to the gates of Budua. He stopped to take breath beforeBellacic's house, and then he went in, and, composing his face aswell as he could, he gently broke the terrible news to the forlornmother.

  Mara was a most courageous woman. Far from fainting and requiring allattendance upon herself, she bethought herself at once of thedifficulty in the way, for she knew that no women were admitted intoa convent of monks. One person alone might help her. This was heruncle, a priest of high degree, and a most important personage in thetown.

  She hastened to his house, and, having explained matters to him, sheimplored him to start at once with her for the Convent of St. Georgeand obtain for he
r the permission she required. The good man,although he hated walking, was not only very fond of his niece, butloved Uros as his own son, so he acceded at once to her request andset out with her, notwithstanding that it was nearly dinner-time, andnot exactly an hour suited for a long up-hill walk. Milenko, havingbroken the news to Mara, hastened to his own house to inform hisparents of the great misfortune. His father, snatching up a loaf ofbread and a gourd of wine, started at once with him. He would go asfar as the convent, enquire there how Uros was getting on, and thenhasten on to Montenegro and inform Bellacic of what had taken place.When they all got to the convent they found that Uros was still aliveand always unconscious.

  Just when Milenko had got back to the convent he remembered that, inhis hurry to go and return, he had forgotten one person, dearer tohis friend, perhaps, even than father or mother; that person wasMilena.

  When the news of Radonic's death reached Budua, Milena made up hermind to return to her father's house. Still, she was rather weak toundertake the journey, and, moreover, she would not go there untilUros had come back.

  On the morning on which Uros was expected she had gone to her ownhouse, to put things in order previous to her departure, and Mara hadpromised to come and see her that afternoon, and take her home withher.

  Time passed; Milena was sitting in her house alone, waiting for herfriend. At every step she heard outside, her heart would begin tobeat faster, and with unsteady steps she would go to the window,hoping to see Uros and his mother; but she was always disappointed.Her sufferings had told their tale upon her thin pale face, which,though it had lost all its freshness, had acquired a new and moreethereal kind of beauty. Her large and lustrous eyes--staring atvacancy--seemed to be gazing at some woful, soul-absorbing vision.The whole of that day she had been a prey to the most gloomyforebodings.

  All at once a little urchin of about four or five summers stood onthe doorstep.

  "_Gospa_ Milena," lisped the little child, "I've come to see you."

  It had been a daring deed to wander all the way from home byhimself, and he was rather frightened.

  This child was the son of one of Mara's neighbours, whom Milena hadof late made a pet of, and whom she had sometimes taken along withher when coming to her house.

  Milena turned round and looked at the little child, that might wellhave been taken for an angel just alighted from heaven, for theslanting rays of the setting sun shining through his fair,dishevelled, curly locks seemed to form a kind of halo round hislittle head.

  "Have you come all the way from home to see me?"

  "Yes," said the child, staring at her to see whether she was cross."I've come for you to tell me a story."

  Milena caught up the boy and covered him with kisses. She was aboutto ask him if he knew whether Uros had returned, but the questionlingered for an instant on her lips; then she blushed, and feared toframe her thoughts in words. Anyhow, it was a very good excuse toshut up her house and take the little boy back home.

  "Will you tell me a story?" persisted the urchin.

  "Yes," said Milena, smiling, "for you must be tired and hungry, too."

  She went into the orchard behind the house, and presently came backwith a huge peach, which made the child's eyes glisten with pleasure.

  "Now, come and sit down here, and when you've finished your peachI'll take you home."

  Thereupon she sat down on her favourite seat, the doorstep, and thechild nestled by her side.

  "What story shall I tell you?"

  "One you've already told me," replied the boy, for, like almost allchildren, he liked best the stories he already knew.

  Milena then began the oft-repeated tale of

  THE MAN WHO SERVED THE DEVIL.

  "Once a farmer's only son married a very young girl----"

  "How old was she?" interrupted the child.

  "She was sixteen."

  "Last time you told me she was fifteen."

  "So she was, but that was a year ago. They had a very grand wedding,to which all the people of the village were invited----"

  "Not the village, the town," said the child.

  "You are right," added Milena, correcting herself.

  "For eight days they danced the _Kolo_ every night, and had granddinners and suppers."

  "What had they for dinner?"

  "They had roast lambs, _castradina_, chickens, geese----"

  "And also sausages?"

  "Yes; and ever so many other good things."

  "But what had they for supper?"

  "They had huge loaves of milk-bread and cakes with raisins----"

  "Had they also peaches?" asked the boy, with his mouth full, whilstthe juice of his own luscious peach was trickling down his chin.

  "Yes; they had also grapes, melons and pomegranates; so when everyguest had eaten till he could hardly stand, all squatted on the floorand sucked sticks of sugar-candy. When the eight days' feasting wasover, the bridegroom weighed himself and, to his dismay, found thathe was eight pounds lighter than on the eve of his marriage."

  "Why?" asked the child, with widely-opened eyes.

  "Because," answered Milena, with a slight smile and the faintest ofblushes, "because, I suppose, he had danced too much."

  "But if he ate till he couldn't stand?"

  "Anyhow," continued Milena, "he was so frightened when he saw howmuch he had lost in weight that he made up his mind to run away andleave his wife at home."

  "But why?" quoth the urchin.

  "Because he thought that if he kept getting thin at that rate,nothing would soon be left of him. He, therefore, made a bundle ofhis clothes and went off in the middle of the night. He walked andwalked, and after a few days, at early dawn, he got to a bleak anddesolate country, where there was nothing but huge rocks, sharpflints, and sandy tracts of ground. Far off he saw a large castle,with high stone walls and big iron gates. Being very tired and notseeing either a tree or a bush as far as eye could reach, he wentand knocked at one of the gates. An elderly gentleman, dressed inblack, came to open, and asked him what he wanted.

  "'I come,' said the bridegroom, 'to see if you are, perhaps, in wantof a serving-man.'

  "'You come in the nick of time,' said the old man, grinning. 'I'lltake you as my cook; you'll not have much to do.'

  "'But,' answered the young man, 'I'm not very clever as a cook.'

  "'It doesn't matter; you'll only have to keep a pot boiling and beever stirring what's in it.'

  "He then led the young man into a kind of underground kitchen, wherethere was an immense pot hanging on a hook, and underneath a roaringfire was burning. Then the old gentleman gave the youth a ladle asbig as a shovel, and bade him stir continually, and every now andthen add more fuel to the fire.

  "The youth stirred on and on for twenty-five years, and then he grewtired and stopped for a while. When he was about to begin again heheard a voice coming out of the cauldron, which said:

  "'You've been mixing us up for a good long while; couldn't you let ushave a little rest?'

  "The cook--who was no more a youth, but an elderly man--gotfrightened. He left the kitchen and went to find his master.

  "'Well,' said the elderly gentleman, who was not a day older than hehad been twenty-five years before, 'what is it you want?'

  "'I'm rather tired of always stirring that pot, and I'd like to gohome.'

  "'Quite right,' replied the master. 'I suppose you want your wages?'

  "He then went to an iron box and took out two big sacks of goldcoins.

  "'You have served me faithfully, and I'll pay you accordingly. Thismoney is yours.'

  "The man took the money and thanked his master.

  "'I'll give you, moreover, some advice, which is, perhaps, worth morethan the money itself. Listen to my words, and remember them. Uponleaving me, always take the high road; on no account go through lanesand byways. Never put up for the night at little hostelries, butalways stop at the largest inns. Whenever you are about to commitsome rash act, defer your purpose till the morrow
. Lastly, whenpeople speak badly of the devil, tell them that he is less black thanhe is painted.'

  "The man thanked his master and went off. He walked for some time onthe highway, and then he met another traveller, who was walking inthe same direction. After a few hours they came to a crossway.

  "'Let us take this path, for we'll get to the next town two hourssooner,' said the traveller.

  "The devil's cook was about to follow the stranger's advice, when heheard his master's words ringing in his ears: 'Always take the highroad, and on no account go through lanes and byways.'

  "He, therefore, told his fellow-traveller how he had pledged his wordto his master to follow his advice. As neither could persuade theother, they parted company, promising each other to meet again atnightfall, at the neighbouring town.

  "As soon as the devil's cook reached the inn where he was to spendthe night, he asked for his new friend, and, on the morrow, he wasgrieved to hear that a wayfarer, answering to the traveller'sdescription, had been murdered the day before, when crossing thelonely byway leading to the town.

  "The devil's cook set out once more on his way, and he was soonovertaken by a party of merry pedlars, all journeying towards hisnative town, where, a few days afterwards, there was to be a fairheld in honour of a patron saint. He made friends with all of them,especially as he bought silk kerchiefs, dresses and trinkets, aspresents for his wife. They trudged along the high road, avoiding allshort cuts, lanes and byways. In the evening they came to a largevillage, where they were to pass the night.

  "'Let us stop here,' said one of the party, pointing to a tavern bythe roadside; 'I know the landlord; the cooking is very good, nowherecan you get a better glass of wine; and besides, it is much cheaperthan at the large inn farther down.'

  "The devil's cook was already on the threshold, when he againremembered his master's words:

  "'Never put up at little hostelries, but always stop at the largerinns.'

  "He, therefore, parted from his company, and went off by himself tothe next inn.

  "He had his supper by himself, and then, being very tired, he wentoff to bed. In the middle of the night he was awakened by a very loudnoise and a great bustle. He got out of bed, and, going to thewindow, he saw the sky all red, and the village seemed to be inflames. He went downstairs, and he was told that the little tavern bythe roadside was burning. It appears that the travellers who hadstopped there had all got drunk. Somehow or other they had set fireto the house, and, in their sleep, had all got burnt.

  "The devil's cook was again grateful to his master for his goodadvice, and on the morrow he once more set out on his way alone.

  "In the evening he at last reached his native town. He was surprisedat the many changes that had taken place since he had left ittwenty-five years before. On the square, just in front of his ownhouse, a large inn had been built; therefore, instead of going atonce to his wife's, he went to pass the night at the inn, and seewhat was taking place at home.

  "From the windows of the inn he saw all his house illuminated, andpeople coming in and going out as if some wedding or other grandfeast were taking place. Then, in one of the rooms of the first floorhe saw his wife--now a buxom matron--together with two handsomeyouths in priest's attire. To his horror and dismay, he saw herhugging and fondling the young men, who were covering her withkisses. At this sight he got into such a rage that he took out hispistol."

  "No," said the child, interrupting, "he took up his gun, which was ina corner of the room."

  "Quite right," answered Milena; "he took up his gun, aimed at hiswife, and was about to shoot, when he fancied he heard his master'svoice saying:

  "'Whenever you are about to commit some rash act, put off yourpurpose till the morrow.'

  "He, therefore, thought he would postpone his revenge till the nextday, and he went downstairs to have his supper.

  "'Who lives opposite,' he asked of the landlord, 'in that house wherethey seem to be having such grand doings?'

  "'A very virtuous woman,' quoth the host, 'whose husband disappearedin a strange, mysterious way on the eighth day of the wedding feast,and has never been heard of since.'

  "'And she never married again?'

  "'No, of course not.'

  "'But who are those two handsome priests that are with her?'

  "'Those are her two boys, twins born shortly after the marriage. Thehouse is illuminated as to-morrow the two young men are to beconsecrated priests, and their mother is giving a feast in theirhonour.'

  "On the morrow the husband went home, made himself known, presentedeach of his two sons with a sack of gold coins, gave his wife all thebeautiful presents he had bought for her; then he went to church andassisted at the ceremony of the consecration. After that he gave allhis old friends a splendid feast, which lasted eight days; and hetold them how, for twenty-five years, he had served the devil, whowas by no means as black as he is painted."

  "I wonder," said the child, "if he got thin again after the feast."

  "I don't know," replied Milena, "for the story stops there."

  "No, it doesn't, for my papa said that many people tried to go andoffer themselves as cooks to the devil, but that they had never beenheard of since then."

  "And now I'll take you home. Perhaps we'll meet _gospa_ Mara on ourway."

  "No, we'll not meet her," said the child, abruptly.

  "Why? Because Uros has come home?"

  "But Uros hasn't come home."

  "How do you know?"

  "I know, because _Capitan_ Milenko came this morning and told _gospa_Mara that Josko Vranic had killed Uros, and so she went off at onceto the Convent of St. George, where----"

  Milena heard no more. A deadly faintness came over her; she loosenedthe grasp of the door she had clutched, her legs sank under her, andshe fell lifeless on the ground.

  The urchin looked at her astonished. He, for a moment, gave upsucking his peach-stone; then he turned on his heels and scamperedhome to inform his mother about what had happened.