The sun had already set as Mara and her friend left the convent gates and slowly wended their way homewards. The mother's heart was heavily laden with grief, for although the holy men had done their best to comfort and encourage her, still doubt oppressed her, and she kept asking herself whether she would still find her son alive on the morrow. Now the darkness which slowly spread itself over the open country, and rendered the surrounding rocks of a gloomier hue, the broad, blue sea of a dull, leaden tint, only made her sadness more intense.
Dusk softens the human heart; it opens it to those tender emotions unfelt during the struggle of the day, whilst the raging sun pouring from above enkindles the fierce passions lurking in the heart. That dimness which spreads itself over the world at nightfall, wrapping it up as in a vaporous shroud, has a mystic power over our nature. That clear obscure mistiness seems to open to the mind's eye the distant depths of borderland; we almost fancy we can see dim, shadowy figures float past before us. The most sceptic man becomes religious, superstitious and spiritual at gloaming.
The two women hardly spoke on their way; both of them prayed for the sufferer lying in the convent; but whilst they prayed their minds often wandered from Uros to Milena, who had been left at home ailing. When they arrived at the gates of the town night had already set in. Mara hastened home with her friend, but Milena was not there; they both went to Radonic's house to look for her. They were afraid lest, in her state of health, she might have heard of her husband's death.
A dreary night awaited the women there. After the child had left her, Milena, who had fallen into a swoon, had been delivered of a son; but the infant, uncared for, and finding the world bleak and desolate, had fled away, without even waiting for the holy water and the salt to speed it forth to more blessed regions.
Milena had only been roused to life by the throes of childbirth, and no sooner had her deliverance taken place than she again fainted away.
Mara's neighbour having, in the meanwhile, been informed by her little boy of Milena's illness, hastened at once to her help. Moreover, on her way thither, she called thebabica(or midwife), but when she reached Radonic's house, she found the new-born infant a cold corpse and the mother apparently dead. The two women did their utmost to recall Milena to life, but all their skill was of no avail. At last, at their wits' end, a passer-by was hailed and begged to go for the doctor at once.
When Mara came, all hopes of rousing Milena to life had been despaired of, but what the skill of the scientific practitioner and of the wise old woman could not bring about, was effected simply by Mara's presence. After Uros' mother had stood some time by her side, stroking her hair, pressing her hand on the sufferer's clammy forehead, and whispering endearing words in her ear, Milena opened her eyes. Seeing Mara standing beside her, the sight of that woman whom she loved, and whose son she doated on, slowly roused her to life. Consciousness, little by little, crept back within her. When she heard from the mother's lips that Uros was not dead, nay, that there was hope of his recovery, she whispered:
"If I could only see him once more, then I should be but too happy to die."
After this slight exertion she once more fainted, but she was soon afterwards brought back again to life, and Mara then was able to make her take the cordial the doctor had prepared for her.
A few hours later, when the physician took his leave for the night, prescribing to the women what they were to do, he and the midwife warmly congratulated each other, not doubting that their skill had snatched the young woman out of the jaws of death.
After a night of pain and restlessness, Milena, early on the next morning, exhausted as she was, fell into a quiet, death-like sleep. Mara then left her to return to the Convent of St. George to see if Uros were still alive and how he was getting on. Milenko's mother went with her. They had not been away long when Milena, shuddering, uttered a loud cry of terror, sat up in her bed and looked straight in front of her.
"What is the matter?" said the midwife, running up to the bedside.
"Don't you see him standing there?" cried the awe-stricken woman.
"There is nobody, my dear; nobody at all."
"Yes! Radonic, my husband, all covered with wounds! He is dying—he is dead!" and Milena, appalled, stared wildly at the foot of the bed.
"It is your imagination; your husband is with your father atCettinje."
"No, no; I tell you he's there; help him, or he'll bleed to death!" and the poor woman, exhausted, fell back on her bed unconscious.
The midwife shuddered, for, although she saw nobody, she was quite sure that the apparition seen by Milena was no fancy of an overheated brain, but Radonic's ghost, that had come to visit his wife, for the news of theheyduk's death had been carefully withheld from Milena.
The midwife went to the fount of holy water, took the blessed sprig of olive which was over it, dipped it into the fount and sprinkled the bed and the place where the ghost had stood, uttering all the while the appropriate prayer for the purpose. Then she sprinkled Milena, and made the sign of the Cross over her. After that she gave her some drops of cordial, and little by little brought her back to her senses, vowing all the while not to remain alone again in that haunted house.
When Milena recovered, "My husband is dead, is he not?" she asked.
"But—no," said the midwife, hesitatingly.
"You know he is. Did you not see him standing there? He had one wound on the head and several in the breast."
The elderly woman did not answer.
"When did he die?" quoth Milena.
"Some days ago; but——"
"He was killed by the Turks, was he not?"
"Yes."
"Why did no one tell me?"
"Because they were afraid to upset you."
"He is dead," said Milena to herself, staring at the spot where she had seen her husband, "dead!" Then she heaved a deep sigh of relief.
The midwife tried to comfort her, but she did not seem to heed her words.
"My babe is dead, all are dead!"
Presently the doctor came in to see how she was getting on.
"Is Uros dead?" was Milena's first question.
"No, he is still alive; a message came from the convent this morning."
"But is there any hope of recovery?"
"If he has lasted on till to-day he may yet pull through; he is young and healthy."
"Can I get up to-day?" asked Milena, wistfully.
"Get up?" asked the doctor, astonished.
"Yes."
"Did you hear her?" said the physician, turning towards the midwife. "She asks if she can get up. Yes, you can get up if you wish to kill yourself."
A look of determination settled in the young woman's eyes; but neither the doctor nor the midwife noticed it.
"Anyhow, it is a good sign when the patient asks if he can get up, except in consumption," added the physician, taking his leave. "If you keep very quiet, and lie perfectly still, without tossing about and fretting, you'll be able to get up in a few days."
Milena pressed her lips, but did not say anything in reply; only, after a little time:
"Do I look very ill?"
"No, not so very ill, either."
"Give me that looking-glass," she added.
The midwife hesitated.
"Is that the way you are going to lie still and get well; you must know that yesterday you were very ill."
"I know; but please hand me the looking-glass."
The midwife did as she was bid. Milena took up the glass and looked at herself scrutinisingly, just like an actor who has made up his face.
"I am very much altered, am I not?"
"Oh, but it'll be all over in one or two days! Wait till to-morrow, and——"
"But to-day I think people would hardly recognise me?"
"Oh, it is not quite as bad as that! besides——"
Milena opened her eyes questioningly, and looked at the midwife.
"I care very little whether I am good-looking or not; whom have I to live for now?"
"Come, you must not give up in that way. You are but a child, and have seen but little happiness up to now; you are rich, free, handsome; you'll soon find a husband, only don't talk, take a cup of this good broth, and try to go to sleep."
"Very well, but I know you are busy, so go home and send me your daughter; she can attend upon me; besides,gospaMarkovic will soon be here."
The midwife hesitated.
"Go," said Milena; "I'll feel quieter if you go."
"But you must promise me to keep very quiet, and not to attempt, on any account, to get up."
"Certainly," said Milena; "the doctor said I was not to rise; why should I disobey him? Besides, where have I to go?"
The midwife, after having tucked her patient carefully in bed and made her as cosy as she could, went off, saying that her daughter would soon come to her.
Milena, with anxious eyes and a beating heart, watched the midwife, and, at last, saw her go away and close the door after her. She waited for some time to see that she did not return; then she gathered up all her strength, and tried to rise.
It was, however, a far more difficult task than she had expected, for she fancied that she had fallen from the top of a high mountain into a chasm beneath, and that every bone in her body had been broken to splinters. If she had been crushed under horses' hoofs, she could not have felt a greater soreness all over her body. Still, rise she would, and she managed to crawl slowly out of her bed.
Her legs, at first, could hardly hold her up; the nerves and muscles had lost all their strength, she fancied the bones had got limp; her back, especially, seemed to be gnawed by hungry dogs.
Having managed to get over her first fit of faintness, she, holding on to the bed and against the wall, succeeded in dragging herself towards the table and dropped into a chair.
She sat there for a while, making every effort to overcome her faintness, but she felt so sick, so giddy, and in such pain, that her head sank down on the table of its own weight, and she burst out crying from sheer exhaustion.
When she had somewhat recovered, she slowly undid her long tresses, and her luxuriant hair fell in waves down to the ground. She shook her head slightly, as if to disentangle the wavy mass, plunged her fingers through the locks to separate them, and felt them lovingly, uttering a deep sigh of regret as she did so; then after a moment's pause, she shrugged her shoulders, took up a pair of scissors, and, without more ado, she clipped the long tresses as close to her head as she possibly could, carefully placing each one on the table as she cut it off. Then she felt her head, which seemed so small, so cold, and so naked; she took up a mirror with a trembling hand and quivering lips pulled down at each corner. After she had seen her own reflection in the glass, she burst into tears. She had hardly put down the mirror, when Frana, the midwife's daughter, came in.
The young girl, seeing Milena, whom she had expected to find in bed, sitting on the chair with all her hair clipped off, remained rooted to the spot where she was standing.
"Milena, dear, is it you?"
"Yes," replied Milena, mournfully.
"But why did you get up? and why have you cut off your beautiful hair?" asked the midwife's daughter, scared.
"My hair burdened my head; I could not bear the weight any more; besides——"
The young girl looked at Milena, wondering whether she were in her right senses, or if the grief of having lost her husband and her child had not driven her to distraction.
"Besides what, Milena?"
"Well, I am not for long in this world, you know!"
"Do not say such foolish things; and let me help you back to bed."
Milena shook her head, and fixing her large and luminous deep blue eyes on the young girl, she said, wistfully:
"Listen, Frana. Uros is dying, perhaps he is dead! I must see him once more. I must go to him, even if I have to die on the way thither!"
"What! go to the Convent of St. George?"
Milena nodded assent.
"But what are you thinking about? How can you, in your state, think of going there?"
"I must, even if I should have to crawl on all-fours!"
"But if you got there, if I carried you there, they would never let you go in; you know women——"
"Yes, they will; that's why I've cut off my hair."
"I don't understand."
"I'll dress up as a boy; you'll come with me; you'll say I'm your brother, and Uros' friend. You'll do that for me, Frana?"
And Milena lifted up her pleading eyes, which now seemed larger than ever and lighted up with an inward ethereal fire.
The young girl seemed to be hypnotised by those entreating eyes.
"But where will you find the clothes you want?"
"If you can't get me your brother's, then borrow or buy a suit for me; but go at once. You must get me a cap, and all that is required, but go at once."
"Very well; only, in the meantime, go to bed, take some broth, and wait till I return."
"But you promise to come back as quickly as you can?"
"Yes, if you are determined to put your life in danger, and——"
"And what?"
"If you don't care what people say."
"Frana, if ever you love a man as I love Uros, you will see that you will care very little for your own life, and still less for what people might say about you."
Frana helped Milena to go to bed again. She made her take a cup of broth, with the yolk of an egg beaten into it; placed, on a chair by her bed, a bowl of mulled wine, which she was to take so as to get up her strength; put away the long locks of hair lying on the table, and at last she went off.
Presently, Milenko's mother came to see Milena, and stayed with her till Frana returned, and then she was persuaded to go back home. When she had gone, Frana undid the bundle she had brought, took out a jacket, a pair of wide breeches and leggings, theopanke; lastly, the small black cap with its gold-embroidered crimson crown.
Frana helped Milena to dress, and, in her weak state, the operation almost exhausted her. The broad sash, tightly wound round her waist, served to keep her up, and, leaning on Frana's arm, she left the house.
"I have managed to find a cart for you, so we need not cross the town, but go round the walls, in order that you may not be seen; besides, the cart will take us to the foot of the mountain, not far from the convent."
"How shall I ever be able to thank you enough for what you have done for me, Frana?"
"By getting over your illness as quickly as possible, for if any harm should come of it my mother 'll never forgive me, and I don't blame her."
The sun was in the meridian when the cart arrived at the foot of the mountain and the two friends alighted. As they climbed the rough and uneven path leading up to the convent, Milena, though leaning on Frana's strong arm, had more than once to stop and rest, for at every step she made the pain in every joint, in every muscle, was most acute. It seemed as if all the ligaments that bind the bones of the skeleton together had snapped asunder, and that her body was about to fall to pieces. Then she felt a smarting, a fire that was burning within her bowels, and which increased at every effort she made; in fact, had it not been for the young girl, she would either have sunk by the roadside or crawled up—as she had said herself—on all-fours.
Her head also was aching dreadfully, her temples were throbbing, and she was parched with fever. Her limbs sank every now and then beneath her weight; still, her love and her courage kept her up, and she trudged along without uttering a word of complaint. At last they reached the convent. Then her strength gave way. Anxiety, pain and shame overpowered her, and she fell fainting on the threshold. Frana summoned help; but, before the monks came, Milena had recovered, and was sitting down on a bench to rest.
In the meanwhile Uros was lingering on—a kind of death in life; the vital flame was flickering, but not entirely extinguished; the ties that fastened the soul to life were still strong. Towards midnight he had sat up in his bed, and—as the monks thought—the Virgin and Christ had appeared to him, then he had, for some time, not given any further signs of consciousness. Nay, the monks were so sure the sufferer was passing away, that they, in fact, began reciting the prayers for the dying. They did so with much fervour, regarding Uros almost as a saint, for never had mortal man been so highly favoured by the Deity. Little by little, however, life, instead of ebbing away, seemed to return; but the sufferer's mind was quite lost.
In the morning, first his father had come, together with his friendJanko, and a little while afterwards Mara came.
The monks related to the wondering parents how the Virgin had appeared, bringing with her the infant Christ for him to kiss. Milenko, however, kept his peace, feeling sure that if he expressed an opinion as to the weird apparition, his words would be regarded as blasphemy.
Coming to himself, Uros recognised his parents, and as Mara bent upon him to kiss his brows:
"Milena," whispered Uros, almost inaudibly.
"Milenko," said the mother, "he wants you."
"No," said Milenko, softly to Mara, "it is not me he wants; he has been calling for Milena since he has been coming back to life. I am sure that her presence would quiet him, and, who knows? perhaps add to his recovery."
The poor mother said nothing; she only patted her boy's brown hand, which seemed to have got whiter and thinner in this short space of time.
"I think it is so hard to refuse him a thing upon which he has set his heart," said Milenko, pleadingly.
Mara still gave no answer.
"Perhaps I am wrong in mentioning it—but you do not know how dearly he loved this cousin of his."
Mara's eyes filled with tears.
"Could these priests not be persuaded to let her come in just for a moment?"
"Milena is too ill to come here; in fact——"
"Is she dead?" asked the young man.
"No, not dead, but as ill as Uros himself is."
"What is the matter with her?" asked Milenko.
Mara whispered something in the young man's ear.
Danilo Kvekvic had left the sufferer to attend to his own duties. All the monks of the convent had, one by one, come to recite an orison by the bedside, as at some miraculous shrine; then Uros was left to the care of his parents; even the old monk, after administering to the young man's wants, had gone to take some rest.
For some time the room was perfectly quiet; Mara and Milenko were whispering together in subdued tones; thepobratim's fathers stood outside.
After a little while Uros began to be delirious, and to speak aboutRadonic and Vranic, who were going to kill Milena.
"There, you see, she is dying; let me go to her. Why do you hold me here? Unhand me; you see she is alone—no one to attend upon her." (The remainder of his words were unintelligible.)
The tears rolled down Mara's cheeks, for she thought that her son's words were but too true; at that moment Milena was probably dying.
"She came to me for help, and I——"
"Milenko," added the delirious man, "get the ship ready; let us take her away."
"Yes," said Milenko; "we have only to heave the anchor and be off."
Uros thereupon made an effort to get up, but the pain caused by his wound was so great that he fell fainting on his bed with a deep moan.
The two men standing at the door came to the sufferer's bedside. Mara herself bent over him to assist him. Just then Milenko was called out—someone was asking for him.
The fever-fit had subsided. The sufferer, falling back on his pillow, exhausted, seemed to be slowly breathing his last.
The tears were falling fast from Mara's eyes. The two men by the bed were twisting their bristling moustaches, looking helplessly forlorn. Just then Milenko appeared on the threshold, followed by a wan and corpse-like boy. Bellacic frowned at the intruder. Mara, at the sight, started back, opening her eyes widely.
"You?" said she.
Milena's head drooped down. Milenko put his arm round her waist to keep her up.
"You here, my child?" added Mara, opening her arms and clasping the young woman within them.
Milena began to sob in a low voice.
"The blessed Virgin must have given you supernatural strength, my poor child; still, you have been killing yourself."
Milena did not utter a word. She pressed Mara's hand convulsively; her face twitched nervously as she looked upon her lover lying lifelessly on his bed; then (Mara having made way for her) the exhausted woman sank down upon her chair.
"I told you," said the old monk, coming in, "that in your weak, exhausted state it was not right for you to see your friend, but nowadays," added he, in a grumbling tone, "young people are so headstrong that they will never do what is required of them for their own good. Now that you have seen him, I hope that you are satisfied and will come out."
"Just let me stay a little longer, till he comes to himself again, only a very few minutes," said Milena, imploringly, and clasping her hands in supplication.
"Please let him stay; Uros 'll be so glad to see him when he opens his eyes. He'll keep very quiet till then."
"Be it so," said the monk; "only the room is getting too crowded. The best cure for a sick man is sympathy and fresh air."
"You are right," said Milenko, "but I give up my place to him; besides, I have some business in town."
As Bellacic accompanied thepobratimout—
"Where are you going?" said he.
"To find out Vranic, and settle accounts with him."
"No, no! Wait!" said the father.
"Wait! for what?"
"Let us not think of vengeance as long as Uros lives."
Milenko did not seem persuaded; Bellacic insisted:
"Don't let us provoke the wrath of the Almighty by more bloodshed."
As they were thus discussing the matter, the doctor from Budua arrived, having been sent by Danilo Kvekvic at the request of the monks.
The old practitioner, the same one who had attended Milena, looked at Uros, shook his head gravely, as if he would say: "There is no hope whatever;" then he touched the sufferer's pulse and examined his wound. He approved of the treatment he had received, and then, after a few moments' brown study, and after taking a huge pinch of snuff, as if to clear his head, he said, slowly, that all human effort was vain; the young man could not last more than a few hours—till eventide, or, at the longest, during the night.
"Umph!" grunted the old man, shrugging his shoulders; "he is in the hands of God."
"Of course, of course. We are all in the hands of God."
"I thought," added the caloyer, "he would not pass yesterday night, especially after the Most Blessed appeared to him, holding her Infant in her arms."
"What!" said the doctor; "you mean to say that the Virgin appeared to him?"
"Of course, and I was not the only one who saw her, for, besides, Blagoslav, Danko Kvekvic, and this young man"—pointing to Milenko —"were also in the room."
"Then God may perform another miracle in his favour," said the doctor, incredulously, "for he is beyond all earthly skill."
Uros, in fact, was sinking fast, and, although the old man clung to hope, still the doctor's words seemed but too true. After some time the sufferer seemed to give signs of consciousness, and when Milena placed her thin white hand on his forehead, he felt the slight pressure of her fingers, and, with his eyes closed, said:
"Milena, areyouhere?" and a faint smile played over his lips.
"Yes, my love," whispered Milena, "I am here."
Uros opened his eyes, looked at her, and seemed bewildered at the change which had come over her; still, he said nothing for a while, but was evidently lost in thought, after which he added:
"Milena, have you been here all night?"
"No, I only came here just now."
"You look ill—very ill; I thought you were dying."
Milena kissed his hand, bathing it with tears. Uros once more sank down on his bed exhausted; still, after a few moments' rest, he again opened his eyes and looked round for his father. Bellacic understood the mute appeal, and bent down over him.
"Father," said he, "I don't think I am in this world for a long time.I feel that all my strength is gone; but before——"
The father bent low over his son.
"Before what?" he asked.
"Before dying——"
"Well, my son?"
"Will you promise, father?"
"Yes, I promise; but what is it you want, my darling?"
"To be married to Milena," he said, with an effort.
The tears trickled down the elderly man's sunburnt cheeks.
"I promise to do my utmost," said he.
He at once turned round and explained the whole affair to his wife. Milena, who seemed to have guessed Uros' request, had hid her face in her hands and was sobbing. Thereupon Bellacic left the room and went to find the old monk, who had gone out with the doctor. Taking him aside, he explained the matter to him.
"What!" said the old monk, "bring another woman into the convent, and a young woman besides?"
"Oh, there is no need to bring her in!"
"What do you mean?"
"She is already in," replied Bellacic, unable to refrain from smiling.
"How did she come in? When did she come in? And with whom did she come in?" asked the caloyer, angrily.
"She came in just before the doctor; you yourself accompanied her."
The old man stared at Bellacic.
"She is the one who came in dressed in boy's clothes; the midwife's daughter accompanied her as far as the——"
"What! do you mean to say that there are three women, and that one of them is a midwife?" quoth the monk, shocked.
Bellacic explained matters. The caloyer consented that Danilo Kvekvic should be sent for to perform the wedding ritesin extremis, provided Milena left the convent together with Mara that very evening, and did not return again on the morrow. Bellacic, moreover, having promised to give the church a fine painting, representing the Virgin Mary as she had appeared to Uros the evening before, the whole affair was settled to everyone's perfect satisfaction.
Mara, who had taken Milena into the adjoining room, said to her:
"Uros has made his father a strange request, and Bellacic has consented; for who can gainsay a dying man's wish?"
"I know," said Milena, whose lips were twitching nervously.
"He wishes to be married to you."
Milena fell into Mara's arms and began to sob.
"But," said Milena, "I am so frightened."
"Frightened of what?"
"My husband."
Mara, bewildered for a moment, remembered that Milena had never been told of Radonic's death.
"I know," continued the young woman, "that he was killed, for he appeared to me only a few hours ago; and I am so frightened lest he should be recalled again and scare Uros to death."
"Oh! if incense is burning the whole time, if many blessed candles are lighted, and the whole room sprinkled with holy water, the ghost will never be able to show itself in such a place; besides, my dear, you know that you were almost delirious, so that the ghost you saw must have only been your fancy."
"Still, I did not know that he was dead, and I saw him all covered with wounds, and as plainly as I see you now; he looked at me so fiercely——"
Milena shuddered; her features grew distorted at the remembrance of the terrible apparition, and, in her weak state, the little strength left in her forsook her, and she fell fainting into Mara's arms.
It was with great difficulty that she was brought back to life, and then she consented to the marriage.
A messenger was sent to Budua to ask Danilo Kvekvic to come and officiate, and the midwife's daughter went with him to bring Milena a dress, as it would have almost been a sacrilege for her to get married in a boy's clothes.
Danilo Kvekvic came at once; the young girl brought the clothes and the wreaths, and everything being ready, the lugubrious marriage service was performed; still, it was to be gone through once more, when Uros should have recovered, if he ever did recover. The monks crowded at the door, looking on wonderingly at the whole affair, for in their quiet, humdrum life, such a ceremony was an unheard of thing, and an event affording them endless gossip.
The emotion Uros had undergone weakened him in such a way that he fell back fainting. His pulse grew so feeble that it could not be felt any more; his breathing had evidently stopped, a cold perspiration gathered on his brow; his features acquired not only the rigidity, but also the pinched look and livid tint of death.
"I am afraid that it is the beginning of the end."
He began once more reciting the prayers for the dying. Danilo Kvekvic sprinkled him with holy water. All the rest sank on their knees by the bed. A convulsive sob was heard. Milenko, unable to bear the scene any longer, rushed out of the room.
Whilst he was sobbing, and the friars outside were trying to comfort him, the old monk came out.
"Well, father?" said the young man, with a terror-stricken face.
"It is all over," said the old man, shaking his head gravely.
Milenko uttered a deep groan; then he sank on his knees, kissing the monk's hand devoutly.
"Thank you, father, for all that you have done for my brother. If earthly skill could have recalled him to life, yours would have done so. Thank you for your kindness to me and to all of us. Now my task begins; nor do I rest until it is accomplished."
Unable to keep back the tears that were blinding him, nor the sobs rising to his throat, he rose and ran out of the convent.
Arriving at Budua, he went everywhere seeking for Vranic; but he could not find him anywhere. Nothing positive was known about him; only, it was said that three children had seen him, or someone looking like him, outside the city walls. Later on, a young sailor related that he had rowed a man answering to Vranic's description on board of a ship bound for the coasts of Italy. The ship, a few hours afterwards, had sailed off.
Weary and disheartened, Milenko went home, where he found his father and mother, who had come back from the convent.
"Well," said the father, "have you heard anything about Vranic?"
"He has fled; my vengeance has, therefore, to be postponed. It might take weeks instead of days to accomplish it; months instead of weeks, and even years instead of months. But I shall not rest before Vranic pays with his own blood for his evil deed," said Milenko.
"You would not be a Slav, nor my son, if you did not act in this way.Uros had certainly done as much for you."
"And now," added Milenko, "as I might be called away from this world before accomplishing this great deed of justice, we must gather, to-night, such of our friends and relations as will take with us the terrible oath of blood, thekarva tajstvo."
"Be it so," said Janko Markovic. "I, of course, will take the oath with you, my son, and will help you to the utmost of my power."
Milenko shook his father's hand, and added: "Danilo Kvekvic will be the officiating priest. He, being a relation, will not refuse, will he?"
"No, certainly not. He may, of course, demur, but by his innuendoes he led me to understand that he will be waiting for you."
"He is a real Iugo Slav."
Milenko and his father busied themselves at once about the great ceremony. They went to all the relations and friends of the two families, begging them, now that Uros was dead, to join with them in taking the oath of revenge against Vranic, the murderer.
Not a man that was asked refused. All shook hands, and promised to be at Markovic's house that night, and from there accompany him to the priest's.
Night came on. Milenko's mother had gone to sit up with Mara and Milena; Bellacic had remained to pray at his son's bedside, together with the good monks. One by one the friends and relations of thepobratim, muffled up like conspirators, knocked at Markovic's door, and were stealthily allowed to enter.Slivovitzand tobacco were at once placed before the guests. When they were all gathered together, and the town was asleep, they crept out quietly and wended their way through the deserted streets to the priest's house.
Milenko tapped at the door.
"They are all asleep at this house," said one of the men; "you must knock louder."
Hardly had these words been uttered than a faint ray of light was seen, and, contrary to their expectations, the door was opened by Danilo himself.
"Milenko! You, at this hour of the night? I thought you were at the convent, reciting prayers over my nephew, yourpobratim."
"Apobratimhas other duties than praying—the holy monks can do that even better than myself."
"But I am keeping you standing at the door; what can I do for you?"
"We have a request to make, which you will not be surprised at. You must follow us to church."
"To church, at this hour of the night?"
"Yes. We wish—one and all here present—to take the oath of blood against the murderer."
"But, my children, think of what you are asking of me. Our religion commands us to forgive our enemies. Christ——"
"We are Slavs, Danilo Kvekvic," said one of the men.
"But Christians, withal, I hope?"
"Still, vengeance with us is a duty, a sacred duty."
"I am thepobratim," quoth Milenko, "the brother of his choice. Did I not swear before you to avenge any injury done to Uros, your nephew? Do you wish me to forget my oath—to perjure myself?"
"Mind, it is the priest, not the uncle, who speaks," said Danilo, sternly; "therefore, remember that thekarva tajstvois illegal by the laws of our country."
"By the laws of Austria," cried out several of the men, "not by the laws of our country. We are Slavs, not Austrians."
"Come, Danilo, we are men, not children; trifling is useless, words are but lost breath in this matter," said Janko Markovic. "We are losing time."
"If you do not follow us with a good will——"
"I see that you mean to carry out your intentions, and that preaching is useless; therefore, I am ready to follow you."
Saying this, he put his cap on his head, and opened the door.
"And the key?" asked Milenko.
"What key?"
"The key of the church."
"Why, I happen to have it in my pocket."
The church being opened, what was their surprise to see it draped in black; but Danilo Kvekvic explained that there had been a funeral service on that very day, and so the church had remained in its mourning weeds.
Thereupon he shut and locked the doors. Some tapers were lighted on the altar, and the priest, putting on his robes, began to read the service.
The few candles shed but a glimmering light in the sacred edifice, and the small congregation, kneeling on the benches by the altar, were wrapt in a gloomy darkness which added a horror to the mystery of the ceremony.
The service for the dead having been read, Kvekvic knelt and partook of the Holy Communion; then, lighting two other tapers, he called the congregation to him. All gathered at the foot of the altar, and knelt down there. He then took up the chalice, where, according to the Orthodox rites of the Communion, bread and wine were kneaded together. Milenko, as the head of the avengers, went up to the altar, and, bowing before the sacred cup containing the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, he made a slight cut in the forefinger of his left hand, and then caused a few drops of his own blood to fall on the Eucharist. He was followed by his father, and by all the other partakers of the oath. When the last man had offered up a few drops of blood, the priest mixed it up with the consecrated bread and wine already in the cup.
"Now," said he, with an inspired voice, "lift up your hands to heaven, and repeat after me the following oath."
All the men lifted up their hands, each one holding a piece of Uros' blood-stained shirt, and then the priest began:
"By this blessed bread representing the flesh of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the wine that is His own blood, by the blood flowing from our own bodies, for the sake of our beloved Uros Bellacic, heinously murdered, and now sitting amongst the martyrs in heaven, and from there addressing us his prayers, I, Milenko Markovic, hispobratim; I, Janko Markovic, his father of adoption; I, Marko Lillic, his cousin" (and so on), "all related or connected to him by the ties of blood, or of affection, solemnly swear, in the most absolute and irrevocable manner, not to give our souls any peace, or any rest to our bodies, until the wishes of the blessed martyr be accomplished by taking a severe revenge upon his murderer, Josko Vranic, of this town, on his children (if ever he has any), or, in default, on any of his relations, friends and acquaintances who might shelter, protect, or withhold him from our wrath; and never to cease in our intention, or flag in our pursuit, until we have obtained a complete and cruel satisfaction, equal, at least, to this crime committed by this common enemy of ours. We swear to God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost, that not one of us will ever try to evade the dangers his oath may put him to, or will allow himself to be corrupted by gold or bribes of the murderer or his family, or will listen with a pitiful ear to the prayers, entreaties, or lamentations of the person or persons destined to expiate the crime that has taken place; and, though his kith-and-kin be innocent of the foul deed perpetrated by their relation, Josko Vranic, we will turn a deaf ear to their words, and only feel for them the horror that the deed committed awakes within us.
"We swear, moreover, by the blessed Virgin and by all the saints in heaven, that should any of us here present forget the oath he has taken, or break the solemn pact of blood, the others will feel themselves bound to take revenge upon him, even as upon the murderer of Uros Bellacic; and, moreover, the relations of the perjured man, justly put to death, will not be able to exact the rites of thekarvarina."
Thereupon, the men having taken the oath, the priest at the altar sank down on his knees, and, uplifting the chalice, continued as follows:
"We pray Thee, omnipotent God, to listen to our oaths, and, moreover, to help us in fulfilling them. We entreat Thee to punish the murderer in his own person, and in that of his sons for seven successive generations; to persecute them with Thy malediction, just as if they themselves had committed the murder. We solemnly declare that we will not consider Thee, O Lord, as just; Thee, O Lord, as saintly; Thee, O Lord, as strong; nor shall we regard Thee, O Lord, as capable of governing the world, if Thou dost not lend a listening ear to the eager wishes of our hearts; for our souls are tormented with the thirst for revenge."
When they had all finished this prayer, if it can be called a prayer, they, one by one, went and partook of that loathsome communion of blood with all the respect and devotion Christians usually have on approaching the Lord's Table. After that Danilo Kvekvic knelt down once more, and uplifting his hands in supplication:
"O Lord, Protector of the oppressed," said he, "Thou punishest all those who transgress Thy wise laws and offend Thee, for Thou art a jealous God. Help these parishioners of mine to fulfil an act of terrestrial justice. Punish, with all Thy wrath, the perpetrator of so abominable a crime; let him have no rest in this world, and let his soul burn for ever in hell after his death; scatter his ashes to the winds, and obliterate the very memory of his existence. Amen."
"Amen," repeated every man after him.
Thereupon he blessed them all; and coming down from the altar he shook hands with each one, no more as a priest, but as a relation of the murdered youth, and thanked them for the oath they had taken.
The candles having been put out, the door of the church was stealthily opened, and, one by one, all the men crept out and vanished in the darkness of the night.
After the ceremony of thekarva tajstvo, all the men who had taken part in it met together at Janko Markovic's house, so as to come to a decision as to what they were to do in their endeavours to capture the murderer. All the information that had been got in Budua about Vranic helped to show that he had embarked on board of an Italian ship, theDiana, which had sailed the evening of the murder. If this were the case, nothing could be done for the present but wait patiently till they could come across him, the communications between Budua and Naples being few and far between.
"Well," said Milenko, "I'll sail at dawn for Trieste. It is one of the best places where I can get some information about this ship. Moreover, I'll do my best to get a cargo for one of the ports to which she might be destined, and I must really be very unlucky not to come across him before the year is out."
"And," replied Janko Markovic, "if our information is wrong—if, after all, he's still lurking in this neighbourhood, or hiding somewhere in Montenegro, we shall soon get at him."
"We have taken the oath," replied all the friends.
"Thank you. I'm sure that Uros' death will very soon be avenged."
Slivovitzand wine were then brought out to drink to the success of thekarva tajstvo.
At the first glimmer of dawn, Milenko bade his mother farewell and asked her to kiss Mara and Milena for him; then, receiving his father's blessing, and accompanied by all his friends, he left home and went to the ship.
All the cargo had been taken on board several days before, the papers were in due order, and the ship was now ready to start at a moment's notice.
No sooner had Milenko got on board than the sleeping crew was roused, the sails were stretched, the anchor was heaved, and the ship began to glide on the smooth surface of the waters.
"Srecno hodi" (a pleasant voyage), shouted the friends, applauding on the pier.
"Z' Bogam" (God be with you), replied Milenko.
"Zivio!" answered the friends.
The young captain saw the houses of Budua disappear, with a sigh. A heaviness came over him as his eyes rested on a white speck gleaming amidst the surrounding dark rocks. It was the Convent of St. George, where, in his mind's eye, he could see his dearly beloved Uros lying still and lifeless on his narrow bed.
Then a deep feeling of regret came over him. Why had he rushed away, when his friend had scarcely uttered his last breath? He might have waited a day or two; Vranic would not escape him at the end.
Never before—not even the first time he had left home—had he felt so sad in quitting Budua. He almost fancied now his heart was reft in two, and that the better part had remained behind with his friend. Not even the thought of Ivanka, whom he so dearly loved, could comfort him. A sailor's life—which had hitherto had such a charm for him while his friend was on board the same ship with him—now lost all its attraction, and if he had not been prompted by his craving for revenge, he would have taken the ship to Trieste (where she was bound to), and there, having sold his share, he would have gone back to Budua.
The days seemed endless to him. The crew of the ship, although composed of Dalmatians, was almost of an alien race; they were from the island of Lussin, and Roman Catholics besides—in fact, quite different people from the inhabitants of Budua or the Kotor; and, had it not been for a youth whom he had embarked with him from his native town, he would have scarcely spoken to anyone the whole of the voyage, except, of course, to give the necessary orders.
No life, indeed, is lonelier than that of a captain having no mate, boatswain or second officer with him. Fortunately, however, for Milenko, Peric—the youth he had taken with him to teach him navigation—was a rather intelligent lad, and, as it was the first time he had left home, he was somewhat homesick, so, in their moments of despondency, each one tried to cheer and comfort the other.
In the night—keeping watch on deck—he would often, as in his childhood, lean over the side of the ship and look within the fast flowing waters. When the sea was as smooth and as dark as a metal mirror, he—after gazing in it for some time—usually saw the water get hazy and whitish; then, little by little, strange sights appear and disappear. Some of them were prophetic visions. Once, he saw within the waters a frigate on fire. It was, indeed, a sight worth seeing. The vision repeated itself three times. Milenko, feeling rather anxious, began to look around, and then he saw a faint light far on the open sea. There was no land or island there. Could that light, he asked himself, be that of a ship on fire? He at once gave orders to steer in the direction of the light. As the distance diminished, the brightness grew apace. The flames, that could now be seen rising up in the sky, made the men believe that it was some new submarine volcano. Milenko, however, felt that his vision had been prophetic.
He added more sails; and, as the breeze was favourable, theSpera in Dioflew swiftly on the waters. Soon he could not only see the flames, but the hulk of the ship, which looked like a burning island; moreover, the cargo must have been either oil or resin, for the sea itself seemed on fire.
In the glare the conflagration shed all around, Milenko perceived a small boat struggling hard to keep afloat, for it was so over-crowded that, at every stroke of the oars, it seemed about to sink.
The joy of that shipwrecked crew, finding themselves safe on board theSpera in Dio, was inexpressible.
Another time he saw, within the sea, the country beyond the walls of his native town. A boy of about ten was leading an old horse in the fields. After some time, the boy seemed to look for some stump on which to tether the horse he had led to pasture; but, finding none, he tied the rope round his own ankle and lay down to sleep. Suddenly, the old horse—frightened at something—began to run, the boy awoke and tried to rise, but he stumbled and fell. His screams evidently frightened the old horse, which ran faster and ever faster, dragging the poor boy through the bushes and briars, dashing him against the stones of the roadside. When, at last, the horse was stopped, the boy was only a bruised and bleeding mass.
"Oh," said Milenko to Peric, "I have had such a horrible vision!"
"I hope it is not about my little brother," replied the youth.
"Why?"
"I really don't know; but all at once the idea came into my head that the poor boy must have died."
"Strange!" quoth Milenko, as he walked away, not to be questioned as to his vision.
One evening, when the moon had gone below the horizon looking like a reaping-hook steeped in blood, and nothing could be seen all around but the broad expanse of the dark waters, reflecting the tiny stars twinkling in the sky above, Milenko saw, all at once, the white walls of St. George's Convent. The doors, usually shut, were now opened. Uros appeared on the threshold. There he received the blessing of the old monk who had tended him during his illness, and whose hands he now kissed with even more affection and thankfulness than devotion; then, hugged and kissed by all the other caloyers, who had got to be as fond of him as of a son or a brother, he bade them all farewell. Then, leaning on Milena's arm, and followed by his father and mother, he wended his way down the mountain and towards the town. Uros was still thin and pale, but all traces of suffering had disappeared from his face. Though he and Milena were man and wife—having been marriedin extremis—still they were lovers, and his weakness was a plausible pretext to lean lovingly on her arm, and stop every now and then to look lovingly within her lustrous eyes, and thus give vent to the passion that lay heavy on his heart; and once, when his parents had disappeared behind a corner, he stopped, put his arm round her waist, then their lips met in a long, silent kiss, which brought the blood up to their cheeks. Then the picture faded, and the waters were again as black as night; only, his ears whistled, and he almost fancied he could hear Uros' voice in a distance speaking of him.
Of course, Milenko knew that all this was but a delusion, a dream, a hallucination of his fancy, and he tried to think of his friend lying stiff and stark within his coffin; still, his imagination was unruly, and showed him Uros at home alive and happy.
These visions about his friend were all the same; thus, nearly three weeks after he had left Budua, one evening, when sad and gloomy, he was thinking of Uros' funeral, to which he now regretted not to have remained and assisted, he saw, within the depths of the dark blue sea, Bellacic's house adorned as for a great festivity. Not only was a banquet prepared;guzlarsplayed on their instruments, and guests arrived in holiday attire, but Uros, who had almost regained his former good looks, was, in his dress of the Kotor, as handsome as aMacic. Milena, as beautiful as when, in bridal attire, she had come from Montenegro, was standing by his side. Soon Danilo Kvekvic came, wearing a rich stole. The guests lighted the tapers they were holding; wreaths were placed on Milena's and Uros' heads. This was the wedding ceremony that would have taken place had Uros recovered from his wound, and of which Milenko had certainly not been thinking.
Milenko at last reached Trieste, where he found a letter waiting for him. The news it contained would have made his heart beat rapidly with joy had Uros only been with him. Now, reading this letter, he only heaved a deep sigh. It was almost a sigh of forlorn hope. Fate but too often, whilst granting us a most coveted boon, seems to feel a malicious pleasure either in disappointing us entirely, or, at least, in blunting the edge of our joy. This letter was from Giulianic, who, having redeemed his pledge from his friend Bellacic, was now but too glad to have him for his son-in-law. Moreover, he urged him to come over to Nona.
Nothing, indeed, prevented Milenko from consigning the ship to the captain, who was waiting for him at Trieste, and selling his share of the brig. Still, he could not think of doing so, or engaging himself, or settling any time for his marriage before Uros' death had been avenged. He, therefore, wrote at once to Giulianic, thanking him for his kindness to him, stating, nevertheless, the reasons which obliged him to postpone his marriage until the vows of thekarvarinahad been fulfilled.
At Trieste, Milenko found out that theDiana, the ship on which Vranic was embarked, was a Genoese brig, usually sailing to and from the Adriatic and the Levant ports; occasionally, she would come as far as Trieste or Venice, usually laden with boxes of oranges and lemons, and sail back with a cargo of timber. It would have been easy enough to have him apprehended by one of the Austrian consuls in the ports where theDianamight be bound to, but the vengeance of thekarva tajstvois not done by deputy nor confided to the police.
At the shipbroker's to which theSpera in Diowas consigned, Milenko also found a letter from the captain, his partner in the ship, saying that, far from coming to take charge of the ship, he was inclined to sell his share; and Milenko, who was very anxious to be free and to sail for those ports where he might easier come across theDiana, bought the other half, and soon afterwards, having managed to get a cargo of timber for Pozzuoli, he set sail without delay, hoping to be in time to catch Vranic in Naples.
Not far from the rocky island of Melada, which the Dalmatians say is the Melita of the Scriptures, theSpera in Diomet with very stormy weather and baffling winds. Thereabouts one rough and cloudy night, when not only Milenko but almost all the men were on deck, they all at once saw a ship looming in the darkness at a short distance from them. The captain had either forgotten to hoist a light, or else had let it go out. When they perceived that dark shadow, only a little darker than the surrounding night, they did their utmost to steer out of her way. The other ship likewise seemed to try and tack about, but driven as she was by a strong head-wind, it was quite impossible to make her change her direction and avoid a collision.
A few moments after the dark phantom was seen a loud crash was heard; it was the groan of a monster falling with a thud upon his adversary, felling him with his ponderous mass. The unknown ship had unexpectedly come and butted against theSpera in Dioamidships, like a huge battering-ram, breaking the beams, shivering the planks, cutting the harmless ship nearly in two, and allowing the waters to pour in through the huge cleft.
Some of the sailors managed to climb up the other ship; most of the crew clung to the timber with which the ship was laden. Milenko remained on the sinking wreck until dawn.
The other ship—an Italian schooner—cruised about, and tried to remain as much as she possibly could on the same spot, till early in the morning, so as to pick up all the men of the wreck. Three of the crew, however, must have been washed away, for they were not seen anywhere, or ever afterwards heard of.
The schooner, that had been also considerably damaged, sailed to Trieste as well as she could. Fortunately for Milenko, theSpera in Diohad been insured for more than her value, and happening to find another ship for sale, theGiustizia di Dio, he bought it, and, on the whole, made a very good bargain. He soon got another cargo for Naples, and, a month after his return, he once more sailed in search of Vranic.