CHAPTER IX
THE HAYDUK
On the morning of the murder Vranic accompanied Radonic out of thetown. He had told Milena he would do so. On reaching the gatefronting the open country and the dark mountains, Radonic stopped,and wished his friend Good-bye. The seer insisted upon walking alittle way out of town with him.
"No, thank you; go back. The weather is threatening, and we'll soonhave rain."
"Well, what does it matter? If you don't melt, no more shall I," andhe laughed at his would-be witticism.
"The roads are bad, and you are no great walker."
Vranic, however, insisted.
Thus they went on together, through vineyards and olive-groves, untilthey got in sight of the white-walled convent. There Radonic triedonce more to get rid of his friend. At last they reached the foot ofthe rocky mountain, usually fragrant with sage and thyme. Having gotto the flinty, winding path leading to the fort of Kosmac:
"Now," said Radonic, "you must positively come no farther."
The road was uneven and very steep. Vranic yielded.
"Go back, and take care of Milena."
"Well, I do not say it as a boast, but you could not leave her inbetter hands."
"She is young, and, like all women--well, she has long hair and shortbrains. Look after her."
"Vranic has his eyes open, and will keep good watch."
"I know I can rely on you. Have we not always been friends, we two?That is why, whenever I left my home, I did so with a light heart."
"Your honour is as dear to me as if it were my own."
"It is only in times of need that we really appreciate the advantageof having a friend. The proverb is right: 'Let thy trusted friend beas a brother to you'; and a friend to whom we can entrust our wife,is even more than a brother. I therefore hope to be able to repay yousoon for your kindness."
"Don't mention it. It has been a pleasure for me to be of use to you;for, as honey attracts flies, a handsome young woman collects menaround her. So there must always be someone to ward off indiscreetadmirers. Moreover, as you know, they say I am a seer, and they areafraid of me."
At last they kissed and parted; the one walking quickly townwards,almost light-hearted, especially after the load of his friend'scompany, the other trudging heavily upwards.
After a few steps, Radonic climbed a high rock, and sat down to watchVranic retracing his steps townwards. When he had seen him disappear,he at last rose and quietly followed him for a while. A quarter of anhour afterwards he was knocking at the gate of the white-walledconvent. The monks, who are always fond of any break in theirmonotonous life, received him almost with deference--a sea captain,who had been all over the world, was always a welcome guest. Aftertaking snuff with all of them, and chatting about politics, the cropsand the scandal of the town, Radonic asked to be confessed; then hegave alms, was absolved of his peccadilloes, and finally took theEucharist--a spoonful of bread soaked in wine--although he pridedhimself on being something of a sceptic. Still, he felt comfortedthereby; he had blotted out all past sins and could now begin a newscore. Religion, they say, in all its forms always tends to make manhappy--aye, and better!
In this merry frame of mind he sat down to dinner with the jollybrotherhood, and after a copious but plain meal, he, according to thecustom of this holy house, retired to one of the cells appointed tostrangers, to have a nap. No sooner was he alone than he undid hisbundle, took out a razor and shaved off all the hair of his cheeksand chin, leaving only a long pair of thick moustaches, which hecurled upwards according to the fierce fashion of the Kotor. Thisdone, he took off his soiled, ugly, badly-fitting European clothesand put on the dress of the country--one of the finest and manliestdevised by man; so that, although not good-looking, he was handsometo what he had just been.
The monks, on seeing him come out, did not recognise him, and couldnot understand from whence he had sprung. Then they were more thanastonished when they found out the reason for this transformation,for he told them that it was to surprise his wife, or rather, themoths attracted by her sparkling eyes.
"I thought I should never put on again the clothes of my youth, butfate, it appears, has decreed otherwise."
"Man is made of dust, and to dust he returneth. Sooner or later wehave to become again what we once were. You know the story of themouse, don't you?"
"No; or at least I don't think I do."
"Then listen, and I'll tell it you."
A great many years ago, in the times of Christ and His disciples,there lived somewhere in Asia a very good man, who had left offworshipping idols and had become a Christian.
Finding soon afterwards that it was impossible for him to dwell anymore with his own people--who scoffed at his new creed, rated him forwishing to be better than they were, mocked him when he prayed, andplayed all kinds of tricks on him when he fasted--he sold hisbirthright and divided all his money amongst the poor, the blind andthe cripples of his native town. Then he bade farewell to all hisfriends and relations, and with the Holy Scriptures in one hand, anda staff in the other, he went out of the town gate and walked intothe wilderness.
He wandered for many days until he arrived on top of a steep,treeless, wind-blown hill, and, almost on the summit, he found asmall cave, the ground of which was strewn with fine white sand, assoft to the feet as a velvet carpet. On one side of this grotto therewas a fountain of icy cold water, and on the other, hewn in the rockas if by the hand of man, a kind of long niche, which looked as if ithad been made on purpose for a bed. The Christian, who had decided tobecome a hermit, saw in this cave a sign of God's will and favour;therefore, he stopped there. For some time he lived on the roots ofplants, berries and wild fruit, that grew at the foot of the hill;then he cultivated a patch of ground, and so he passed his time,praying, reading his holy Book, meditating over it, or tilling hisbit of glebe.
Years and years passed--who knows how many?--and he had become an oldman, with a long white beard reaching down to his knees, a brown,sun-burnt skin, and a face furrowed with wrinkles. Since the day hehad left his country, he had never again seen a man, a woman or achild, nor, indeed, any other animal, except a few birds that flewover his head, or some small snakes that glided amongst the stones.So one evening, after he had said his lengthy prayers and committedhis soul to God, he went to lie down on his couch of leaves and moss;but he could not sleep. He, for the first time, felt lonely, and, asit were, home-sick. He knew he would never behold again the face ofany man, so he almost wished he had, at least, some tiny livingcreature to cherish. Sleep at last closed his eyes. In the morning,on awaking, he saw a little mouse frisking in the sand of his cave.The old hermit looked astonished at the pretty little thing, and hedurst not move, but remained as quiet as a mouse, for fear the mousewould run away.
The animal, however, caught sight of him, and stood stock-still onits hind legs, looking at him. Thus they both remained for someseconds, staring at each other. Then the hermit understood at lastthat God, in His goodness, had heard his wish, and had sent him thislittle mouse to comfort him, and be a companion to him in his oldage. And so it was.
Days, months, years passed, and the mouse never left the hermit, noteven for a single instant; and the godly man grew always fonder ofthis friendly little beast. He played with it, patted it, and calledit pet names; and at night, when he crept into his niche to sleep, hetook the mouse with him.
One night, as he pressed the little animal to his breast, he felt hisheart overflow with love for it, and in his unutterable fondness hebegged the Almighty to change this dear little mouse into a girl; andlo, and behold! God granted his prayer, for, of course, he was asaintly man. The hermit pressed the girl to his heart, and then fellupon his knees and thanked the All-Merciful for His great goodness.
The girl grew up a beautiful maiden--tall, slender, and most gracefulin her movements, with a soft skin, and twinkling, almost mischievouseyes.
Years passed. The hermit now had grown to be a very old man; and inhis last years his spirit
was troubled, and his heart was full ofcare. He knew that he had passed the time allotted to man here below,and he was loth to think that he would have to die and leave hisdaughter alone in the wilderness. Besides, she had reachedmarriageable age; and if it is no easy matter for a match-makingmother to marry her daughter in a populous town, it was a difficulttask to find a husband for her in that desert. Moreover, he did notexactly know how to broach the subject of matrimony to a girl who wasso very ingenuous, and who thought that all the world was limited tothe cave and the hill on which she lived. Still, he did not shrinkfrom this duty; and, therefore, he told her what he had read inscientific books about the conjunctions of planets in the sky. Thenhe quoted the Scriptures, and said that it was not good for man to bealone, nor for woman either; that even widows should marry, if theycannot live in the holy state of celibacy.
The poor girl did not quite fathom all the depths of his speech, butsaid she would be guided by his wisdom.
"Very well," said the anchorite, "I shall soon find you a husbandworthy of you."
"But," said the girl, ingenuously, "why do you not marry meyourself?"
"_I_ marry you? First, my dear, I am a hermit, and hermits nevermarry, for if they did, they might have a family, then--youunderstand--they wouldn't be hermits any more, would they?"
"But they needn't have a family, need they?"
"Well, perhaps not; besides, I can't marry you, because----"
"Because?"
"I," stammered the anchorite, blushing, "I'm too old."
"Ah, yes!" echoed the maid, sighing; "it's a fact, you are _very_old."
That night, after the hermit and his adopted daughter had said theirprayers, she, who was very sleepy, went off to bed, whilst he, whowas as perplexed as any father having a dowerless daughter, went outof his cavern to meditate.
The full moon had just risen above the verge of the horizon, and hersoft light silvered the sand of the desert, and made it look likenewly fallen snow.
The old man stood on top of the hill, and stretching forth his armsto the Moon:
"Oh! thou mightiest of God's works, lovely Moon, take pity upon aperplexed father, and listen to my prayer. I have one fair daughterthat has now reached marriageable age; she is of radiant beauty, andwell versed in all the mysteries of our holy religion. Marry mydaughter, O Moon!"
"Now," said Radonic, interrupting, "that's foolish; how could the oldhermit expect the Moon to marry his daughter?"
"First, this is a parable, like one of those our blessed Saviour usedto tell the people; therefore, being a parable, it's Gospel, and youmust believe it as a true story, for it is the life of one of theholy Fathers of the Church."
"I see," quoth Radonic, although he did not see quite clearly.
Then the Moon replied:
"You are mistaken, old man; I am not the mightiest of God's creation.The Sun, whose light I reflect, is the greatest of the Omnipotent'sworks; ask the Sun to be a husband to thy daughter."
The hermit sank on his knees and uttered lengthy prayers, till thelight of the Moon grew pale and vanished, and the sky got to be of asaffron tint; soon afterwards, the first rays of the Sun flooded thedesert, and transmuted the sandy plain into one mass of glitteringgold. When the old man saw the effulgent disc of the Sun, hestretched out his arms and apostrophised this planet as he had donethe Moon. Then he rubbed his hands and thought:
"Well, if I only get the Sun for my son-in-law I'm a lucky man."
But the Morning Sun told the hermit that he was mistaken:
"I'm not the mightiest of the Creator's works," quoth the Sun. "Yousee yon cloudlet yonder. Well, soon that little weasel will get to beas big as a camel, then as a whale, then it'll spread all over thesky and will hide my face from the earth I love so well. That Cloudis mightier than I am."
Then the hermit waited on top of the hill until he saw the Cloudexpand itself in the most fantastic shapes, and when it had coveredup the face of the Morning Sun, the hermit stretched out his handsand offered to it his daughter in marriage. The Cloud, however,answered just as the Moon and the Sun had done, and it proposed theSimoon as a suitor to his daughter.
"Wait a bit," said the Cloud, "and you will see the might of theSimoon, that, howling, rises and not only drives us whithersoever hewill, but scatters us in the four corners of the Earth."
No sooner had the Cloud done speaking than the Wind arose, lifting upclouds of dust from the earth. It seemed to cast the sand upwards inthe face of the sky, and against the clouds; and the waters abovedropped down in big tears, or fled from the wrath of the Wind.
Then the hermit stretched his hands towards the Simoon, and beggedhim, as the mightiest of the Creator's works, to marry his daughter.
But the Wind, howling, told him to turn his eyes towards a highmountain, the snowy summit of which was faintly seen far off in thedistance. "That Mountain," said he, "is mightier by far than myself."
The hermit then went into the cavern and told his daughter that, asit was impossible to find a suitor for her in the desert, he wasgoing on a journey, from which he would only return on the morrow.
"And will you bring me a husband when you come back?" she asked,merrily.
"I trust so, with God's grace," quoth the Hermit, "and one wellworthy of you, my beloved daughter."
Then the hermit girded his loins, took up his staff, and journeyed inthe direction of the setting sun. Having reached the foot of theMountain when the gloaming tinged its flanks in blood, he stretchedout his arms up to the summit of the Mount and begged it to marry hisdaughter.
"Alas," answered the Mountain, mournfully, "you are much mistaken. Iam by no means the mightiest of God's works. A Rat that has burroweda big hole at my feet is mightier by far than I am, for he nibblesand bites me and burrows in my bowels, and I can do nothing againstit. Ask the Rat to marry thy daughter, for he is mightier by far thanI am."
The hermit, after much ado, found out the Rat's hole, and likewisethe Rat, who--like himself--was a hermit.
"Oh, mightiest of God's mighty works! I have one daughter, passingfair, highly accomplished, and well versed in sacred lore; wiltthou--unless thou art already married--take this rare maiden as thylawful wedded wife?"
"Hitherto, I have never contemplated marriage," retorted the Rat,"for 'sufficient to the day are the evils thereof'; still, where isyour daughter?"
"She is at home, in the wilderness."
"Well, you can't expect me to marry a cat in a bag, can you?" heanswered, squeaking snappishly.
"Oh, certainly not!" replied the anchorite, humbly; "still, that sheis fair, you have my word on it; and I was a judge of beauty in pasttimes"--thereupon he stopped, and humbly crossed himself--"that sheis wise--well, she is my daughter."
"Pooh!" said the Rat; "every father thinks his child the fairest oneon earth; you know the story of the owl, don't you?"
"I do," retorted the hermit, hastily.
"Then you wouldn't like me to tell it you, would you?"
"No, not I."
"Well, then, what about your daughter?"
"I'll take you to see her, if you like."
"Is it far?"
"A good day's walk."
"H'm, I don't think it's worth while going so far. Could you notbring her here for me to see her?"
"Oh! it's against etiquette. But if you like, I'll carry you to her."
"All right, it's a bargain."
At nightfall they set out on their journey, and they got to the caveearly on the following day.
The young girl, seeing the hermit, ran down the hill to meet him.
"Well, father," said she, with glistening eyes, flushed cheeks,parted lips, and panting breast, "and my husband, where is myhusband?"
"Here," said the anchorite; and he took the Rat out of his wallet."Here he is; allow me to introduce to you a husband mightier than theMoon, more powerful than the Sun, stronger than the Clouds, morevaliant than the Simoon, greater than the high Mountain; in fact, ahusband well worthy of you, my daughter."
/> The eyes of the young girl opened wider and wider in muteastonishment.
"He's a fine specimen of his kind, isn't he?"
"I daresay he is," said she, surveying him with the eye of aconnoisseur; "and cooked in honey, he'd be a dainty bit."
"And he's a hermit, into the bargain."
"But," added the girl, ruefully, "if you intended me to marry a rat,was it not quite useless to have turned me into a woman?"
The hermit stroked his beard, pensively, for a while, and wasapparently lost in deep meditation.
"My daughter," replied he, after a lengthy pause, "your words areGospel; I have never thought of all this till now; you see clearlythat 'the ways of Providence are not our ways.'"
Thereupon, the old man fell on his knees, for he felt himselfrebuked; he prayed long and earnestly that his daughter might oncemore be changed into a mouse. And, lo and behold! his prayer wasgranted; nay, before he had got up from his knees and looked around,the girl had dwindled into her former shape, evidently well pleasedwith the change.
Anyhow, the anchorite was comforted in his loneliness, for he hadalways meant well towards her; moreover, he felt sure that if thenewly-married couple ever had children, the little mice would be sowell brought up, that they would scrupulously refrain from eatinglard on fast days.
Then the hermit, tired with his journey, went and lay down on his bedof moss, dropped off to sleep, and never woke again on earth.
At dusk, Radonic took leave of the learned and hospitable_kaludgeri_, and went back to town. He reached the gate when theshadows of the night had already fallen upon the earth. Although hefancied that everyone he met stared at him, still many of hisacquaintances passed close by him without recognising him.
At last he crossed the whole of the town and got to his house. Thedoor being slightly ajar, he thought Milena must be at home. Heglided in on tiptoe, his _opanke_ hardly making the slightest noiseon the stone floor. There was no fire on the hearth, no light to beseen anywhere. Milena was not in the front room, nor in any of theothers. Where could she have gone, and left the front door open?Surely she would be back in a few moments? He crouched in a cornerand waited, but Milena did not make her appearance.
As it was quite dark, he groped to the cupboard, found the loaf, cuthimself a slice, then managed to lay his hand on the cheese. As heate, he almost felt like a burglar in his own house. The darknessreally unnerved him, and yet he was inured to watch in the night onboard his ship; now, however, the hand of Time seemed to havestopped.
The bread was more than tough, the cheese was dry; so he could hardlymanage to gulp the morsels down. Unable to find the _bukara_, he wentinto the cellar and took a long draught of heady wine.
Returning upstairs, he again crouched in a corner. Milena had notcome back; evidently, she had gone to Mara's, as he had told her to.Sitting there in the darkness, watching and waiting, with the purposeof blood on his mind, time hung wearily upon him. The wine hadsomewhat cheered him, but now drowsiness overpowered him. To keephimself from falling asleep, he tried to think. Though he was notgifted with a glowing imagination, still his mind was full offancies, and one vision succeeded another in his overheated brain.His past life now began to flit before his eyes like scenes in apeep-show. A succession of ghosts arose from amidst the darkness andthreatened him. One amongst them made him shudder. It was that of abeautiful young woman of eighteen summers standing on the seashore,waiting for a sail.
Many years ago, when he was only a simple sailor, he had been wreckedon the coasts of Sicily. A poor widow had given him shelter, and inreturn for her kindness, what had he done? This woman had threedaughters; the eldest was a beautiful girl of eighteen, the other twowere mere children. For months these poor creatures toiled for himand fed him. Then he married the girl under a false name with thepapers belonging to one of the drowned sailors. Although he hadmarried her against his will--for she was a Catholic and did notbelong to the Orthodox faith--still he intended doing what wasright--bring her to his country, and re-marry her according to therites of his own Church. But time passed; so he confessed, gave almsto the convent, obtained the absolution, and was almost at peace withhimself. Probably, she had come to the conclusion that he had beenswallowed up by the hungry waves, and she had married a man of herown country; so his child had a father. Still, since his marriage,the vision of that woman often haunted him.
Anyhow, he added bitterly to himself, although a Catholic, she hadloved him. Milena, a true believer, had never cared for him. And nowhe remembered the first time he had seen Milena; how smitten he hadbeen by her beauty, how her large eyes had flashed upon him with adark and haughty look. She had disliked him from the first, but whathad he cared when he had got her father into his hands? for when theproud Montenegrin owed him a sum which he could not pay at once, hehad asked him for the hand of his daughter.
Instead of trying to win her love, he had ill-treated her from thevery beginning; then, seeing that nothing could daunt her, he hadoften feared lest he should find his house empty on returning home.
All at once the thought struck him that now she had run away withVranic. She had, perhaps, confided the whole truth to him, and theyhad escaped together. He ground his teeth with rage at that thought.
No, such a thing could not be, for she hated Vranic.
"Aye, it is true she hates him, but does she not hate me as much?" hesaid to himself; "fool that I was not to have thought of this before.Vranic is not handsome; no one can abide him. Still, he clings towomen in a way that it is almost impossible to get rid of him.Anyhow, if they have gone away together, I swear by the blessedVirgin, by St. Nicholas, and by St. Cyril and Method that I shallovertake them; nay," said he, with a fearful oath, "even if they havetaken refuge in God's own stomach, I shall go and drag them out andtake vengeance on them, as a true Slav that I am. Still, in themeantime, they have, perhaps, fooled me, and I am here waiting forthem." And, in his rage, he struck his head against the wall.
"Trust a woman!" thought Radonic; "they are as skittish as cats,slippery as eels, as false as sleeping waters. Why, my own mothercheated me of many a penny, only for the pleasure of hoarding them,and then leaving them to me after her death. Trust a woman as far asyou can see her, but no farther," and then he added: "Yes, and trustthy friend, which is like going to pat a rabid dog.--What o'clock isit?" he asked himself.
He was always accustomed to tell the time of the day to a minute,without needing a watch, but now he had lost his reckoning.
It was about six o'clock when he came back home; was it nine or tennow?
He durst not strike a light, for fear of being seen from without andspoiling his little game. He waited a little more.
The threatening shadows of the past gathered once more around him.
All at once he heard some words whispered audibly. It was the curseof the boy he had crippled for life. He shuddered with fear. In hisauto-suggestion he, for a moment, actually fancied he had heard thosewords. Then he shrugged his shoulders, and tried to think ofpleasanter subjects.
A curse is but a few idle words; still, since that time, not a decentseaman had ever sailed with him.
He could not bear the oppressive darkness any longer; peopled as itwas with shadows, it weighed upon him. He went into the inner room,lit a match, looked at his watch.
It was not yet nine o'clock. Time that evening was creeping on at asluggish pace.
"Surely," he soliloquised, "if Vranic is coming he cannot delay muchlonger." After a few seconds he put out the light and returned to thefront room.
Soon afterwards, he heard a bell strike slowly nine o'clock in thedistance; then all was silence. The house was perfectly still andquiet, and yet, every now and then, in the room in which he wassitting, he could hear slight, unexplainable noises, like the softtrailing of garments, or the shuffling of naked feet upon the stonefloor; stools sometimes would creak, just as if someone had sat uponthem; then small objects seemed stealthily handled by invisiblefingers.
He tried to thin
k of his business, always an engrossing subject, notto be overcome by his superstitious fears. He had been a shrewd man,he had mortgaged his house for its full value to Vranic himself tobuy the mythical cargo. Now that all his wealth was in bank-notes, orin bright and big Maria Theresa dollars, he was free to gowhithersoever he chose.
Still, it was vexing to think that if he killed that viper of aVranic, as he was in duty bound to do, he would have to flee from hisnative town, and escape to the mountains, at least till affairs weresettled. It was a pity, for now the insurance society would make arich man of him, so he might have remained comfortably smoking hispipe at home, and enjoying the fruits of many years' hard labour.
A quarter-past nine!
He began to wonder whether Milena--not seeing him come to fetch her--would return home. Surely more than one young man would offer tosee her to her house. This thought made him gnash his teeth with rage.
When once the venom of jealousy has found its way within the heart ofman, it rankles there, and, little by little, poisons his wholeblood.
And again he thought: "That affair of Uros and Milenko has never beenquite clear; Vranic was false, there was no doubt about it; still, itwas not he who had invented the whole story. Had he not been thelaughing-stock of all his friends?"
Half-past nine!
How very slowly the hours passed! If he could only do something towhile away the time--pace up and down the room, as he used to do onboard, and smoke a cigarette; but that was out of the question.
Hush! was there not a noise somewhere? It must have been outside; andstill it seemed to him as if it were in the house itself. Was it amouse, or some stray cat that had come in unperceived? No; it was acontinuous noise, like the trailing of some huge snake on the drygrass.
A quarter to ten!
Silence once more. Now, almost all the town is fast asleep. He wouldwait a little longer, and then? Well, if Vranic did not come soon, hewould not come at all, so it would be useless waiting. He wrappedhimself up in his great-coat, for the night was chilly, and had itnot been for the thought that Milena had fled with Vranic, sleepinesswould have overcome him.
He thoughtlessly began making a cigarette, out of mere habit, just todo something. It was provoking not to smoke just when a few puffswould be such a comfort.
Now he again hears the chimes at a distance; the deep-toned bellrings the four quarters slowly; the vibrations of one stroke havehardly passed away when the quiet air is startled by another stroke.How much louder and graver those musical notes sound in the hushedstillness of the night!
Ten o'clock!
Some towns--Venice, for instance--were all life and bustle at thathour of the night; the streets and squares all thronged with masksand merry revellers; the theatres, coffee-houses, dancing-rooms, wereblazing with light, teeming with life, echoing with music andmerriment. Budua is, instead, as dark, as lonesome, and as silent asa city of the dead. The whole town is now fast asleep.
"It is useless to wait any longer," mutters Radonic to himself;"nobody is coming."
The thought that his wife had fled with Vranic has almost become acertainty. Jealousy is torturing him. He feels like gripping histhroat and choking himself, or dashing his head to pieces against thestone wall. If his house had been in town, near the others, Vranicmight have waited till after ten o'clock; but, situated where it was,no prying neighbours were to be feared. Something had, perhaps,detained him. Still, what can detain a man when he has such an objectin view?
Muttering an oath between his teeth, Radonic stood up.
"Hush! What was that?" He listened.
Nothing, or only one of the many unexplainable noises heard in thestillness of the night.
Perhaps, after all, Vranic had been on the watch the whole day, andthen he had seen him return. Perhaps--though he had never believed inhis friend's gift of second sight--Vranic was indeed a seer, andcould read within the minds of men. Perhaps, having still somedoubts, he would only come on the morrow. Anyhow, he would go to bedand abide his time. He stretched his anchylosed limbs and yawned.
Now he was certain he heard a noise outside.
He stood still. It was like the sound of steps at a distance. Helistened again. This time he was not mistaken, though, indeed, it wasa very low sound. Stealthy steps on the shingle. He went on tiptoe tothe door. The sound of the steps was more distinct at every pace.Moreover, every now and then, a stone would turn, or creak, or strikeagainst another, and thus betray the muffled sound of the person whowalked.
Radonic listened breathlessly.
Perhaps, after all, it was only Milena coming back home. He peepedout, but he could not see anything. Was his hearing quicker than hissight?
He strained his eyes and then he saw a dark shadow moving among thebushes, but even then he could only distinguish it because his eyeswere rendered keener by following the direction pointed out by hisears.
Was it Vranic, he asked himself.
Aye, surely; who else could it be but Vranic?
Still, what was he afraid of? No human eye could see him, no eardetect his steps.
Are we not all afraid of the crime we are about to commit? There isin felony a ghastly shadow that either precedes or follows us. Itfrightens even the most fearless man.
Slowly the shadow emerged from within the darkness of the bushes andcame up towards the house. It was Vranic's figure, his shufflinggait.
Radonic's breast was like unto a glowing furnace, the blood withinhis heart was bubbling like molten metal within a crucible.
In a moment, that man--who was coming to seduce his wife anddishonour him--would be within his clutches.
Then he would break every bone within his body. He seemed to hear theshivering they made as he shattered them into splinters, and heshuddered.
For a moment, the atrocity of the crime he was about to commit,daunted him.
Still, almost at the same time, he asked himself whether he weregoing to turn coward at the last moment.
Was he not doing an act of equity? How heinously had not this fienddealt by him! He had put him up against his wife, until, baited, shewas almost driven to adultery. No, the justice of God and man wouldabsolve him; if not--well, he had rather be hanged, and put his soulin jeopardy, than forego his vengeance. He was a Slav.
All these thoughts flitted through his brain in an instant, likeflashes of lightning following one another on a stormy night.
Radonic watched the approaching shadow, from the cranny of the doorajar, with a beating heart.
Before Vranic came to the doorstep, he stopped. He looked round onone side, then on the other; after that he cast a glance all around.He bent his head forward to try and pierce the darkness thatsurrounded him. Was he seeing ghosts? Then he seemed to be listening.At last, convinced that he was alone, he again walked on. Now he wasby the door, almost on the sill, within reach of Radonic's grasp. Hestopped again.
Radonic clasped his knife; he might have flung the door open, anddespatched him with a single blow. No, that would have been stupid.It was better by far to let him come in, like a mouse into a trap,and there be caught with his own bait. Yes, he would make the most ofhis revenge, spit upon him, torture him.
Slowly and noiselessly he glided back into a corner behind the door.Some everlasting seconds passed. He waited breathlessly, for hisheart was beating so loud that he could only gasp.
Had Vranic repented at the last instant? Had he gone back? Was hestill standing on the doorstep, waiting and watching? At last hemoved--he came up to the door--he slowly pushed it open; then againhe stopped. The darkness within was blacker than the darknesswithout.
"_Sst, pst!_" he hissed, like a snake. Then he waited.
He came a step onward; then, in an undertone: "Milena, Milena, whereare you?"
Again he waited.
"Milena," he whispered; and again, louder: "Milena, are you here?"
He stretched forth his hands, and groped his way in. Radonic couldjust distinguish him.
"Milena, my love, it is
I, Vranic."
Those few words were like a sharp stab to Radonic. He made asuperhuman effort not to move; for he wanted to see what the rascalwould do next.
"Perhaps she has fallen asleep, or else has gone to bed," he mutteredto himself.
He again advanced a few steps, always feeling his way. Evidently, hewas going towards the next room; for he knew the house well. All atonce, he stumbled against a stool. He was frightened; he thoughtsomeone had clutched him by the legs. He recovered, and shut the doorbehind him. It was a fatal step; for otherwise he might, perhaps,have managed to escape.
How easy it would now have been for Radonic to pounce upon him anddash his brains out; but he wanted to follow the drama out to itsend, and now the last scene was at hand.
Vranic, having shut the door, remained quiet for some time. Hefumbled in his pockets, took out his steel and flint, then struck alight. At the first spark he might have seen Radonic crouching a fewsteps from him, but he was too busy lighting the bit of candle he hadbrought with him. When his taper shed its faint glimmer, then helooked round, and, to his horror, he saw the figure of a man, withglistening eyes, and a dagger in his hand, standing not far from him.At first he did not recognise his friend, with shaven beard and inhis new attire; still, he did not require more than a second glanceto know who it was.
Terror at once overpowered him; he uttered a low, stifled cry.Retreat was now out of the question; he therefore tried to master hisemotion.
"Oh! Radonic, is it you? How you frightened me! I did not recogniseyou. But how is it that you have come back? and this change in----"
"How is it that you are in my house at this hour of the night?" saidhe, laying his hands on him.
"I--I," quoth Vranic, gasping, "I came to see if everything wasquiet, as I promised, and seeing your door open----"
"That is why you call Milena your love."
"Did I? You are mistaken, Radonic--though perhaps I did; but then itwas only to see if she were expecting someone; you know women arelight----"
"You liar, you villain, you devil!" And Radonic, clutching him by hisshoulders, shook him.
"Believe me! I swear by my soul! I swear by the holy Virgin, whosemedals--blessed by the Church--I wear round my neck. May I be struckdown dead if what I say is not true!"
"Liar, forswearer, wretch!" hissed out Radonic, as he spat inVranic's face.
"I never meant to wrong you," replied Vranic, blubbering. "I camehere as a friend--I told you I would; may all the saints togetherblind me if what I say be not true."
But the husband, ever more exasperated, clutched his false friend bythe throat, and as he spouted out all his wrath, he kept gripping himtighter and ever tighter. In his passion his convulsively clenchedfingers were like the claws of a bird of prey.
Vranic now struggled in vain; the candle, which had been blown out,had fallen from his fingers; he tried to speak, he gasped for breath,he was choking.
Radonic's grasp now was as that of an iron vice, and the more thefalse friend struggled to get free, the stronger he squeezed.
Vranic at last emitted a stifled, raucous, gurgling sound; then hisarms lost their strength, and when, a moment afterwards, the furioushusband relinquished his hold, his antagonist fell on the floor witha mighty thud.
The bells of the church were chiming in the distance.
Radonic, shivering, shuddering, stood stock-still in the darknessthat surrounded him; he only heaved a noiseless sigh--the deep breathof a man who has accomplished an arduous task.
Vranic did not get up; he did not move. Was he dead?
"Dead!" whispered Radonic to himself.
Just then the body, prostrate at his feet, uttered a low, hoarse,hollow sound. Was it the soul escaping from the body?
He looked down, he looked round; black clouds seemed to be whirlingall around him like wreaths of smoke. He durst not move from where hestood for fear of stumbling against the corpse.
At last he took out his steel and began to strike a light, but in histrepidation, he struck his fingers far oftener than his flint. Atlast he managed to light a lantern on the table close by, and thencame to look at the man stretched on the floor.
Oh, what a terrible sight he saw! He had till now seen murdered menand drowned men, but never had he witnessed such a terrifying sightbefore; it was so horrible that, like Gorgon's hideous head, itfascinated him.
After a few minutes' dumb contemplation, Radonic heaved again a deepsigh, and whispered to himself: "It is a pity I did not leave himtime to utter a prayer, to confess his sins, to kiss the holy Crossor the image of the saints. After all, I did not mean to kill thesoul and body together." Then, prompted by religious superstitions, orby a Christian feeling--for he was of the Orthodox faith--he went toa fount of holy water, dipped in it a withered olive twig, and cameto sprinkle the corpse, and made several signs of the holy Cross;then he knelt down and muttered devoutly several prayers for the restof the soul of the man whom he had just murdered; then he sprinkledand crossed him again.
Had he opened the gates of paradise to the soul that had taken itsflight? Evidently he felt much comforted after having performed hisreligious duties; so, rolling a cigarette, and lighting it at thelantern, he went to sit on the doorstep outside and smoke. Thatcigarette finished, he made another, and then another. At last, afterhaving puffed and mused for about an hour, he again went into thehouse and made a bundle of all the things he wanted to take away withhim. Everything being ready, and feeling hungry, he went to thecupboard, cut himself a huge slice of bread and a piece of cheese,which he ate as slowly as if he were keeping watch on board; then hetook a long draught of wine, and, as midnight was striking, he leftthe house.
"I wonder," he thought, "where Milena is; anyhow, it is much bettershe is away, for, had she been in the house, she might have given meno end of useless trouble. Women are so fussy, so unpractical attimes."
Thereupon he lighted his pipe.
"Still," he soliloquised, "I should have liked to see her beforestarting, to bid her good-bye. Who knows when I'll see her again, ifI ever do see her? And how I hope this affair will be settled soon,and satisfactorily, too; he has no very near relations, and those hehas will be, in their hearts, most grateful to me."
He trudged on wearily. When he passed Mara's house, he stopped,sighed, and muttered to himself:
"Good-bye! Milena. I loved you in my own churlish way; I loved you,and if I've been unkind to you, it was all Vranic's fault, for hedrove me on to madness. Anyhow, he has paid for it, and dearly, too;so may his soul rest in peace!"
"And now," thought he, "it is useless fooling about; it is better tobe off and free in Montenegro before the murder is discovered and theAustrian police are after me, for there is no trifling with thisnew-fangled government that will not allow people to arrange theirlittle private affairs--it even belies our own proverb: 'Every one isfree in his own house.'"
As he left the town, he bethought himself of what he was to do. Firsthe would see his father-in-law, and ask him to go down to town andfetch his daughter, for it was useless to leave Milena alone inBudua; life would not be pleasant there till the business of the_karvarina_ was settled. Then, as Montenegro was always at war withTurkey, he supposed that he would, as almost all _hayduk_, have totake to fighting as an occupation, though, thank God, he said tohimself, not as a means of subsistence.
It was, however, only at dawn that he managed to get out of the towngate, together with some peasants going to their early work, and sohe crossed the frontier long before Vranic's murder was known intown.
On the morrow, when Milena fainted on the murdered man's corpse, shewas taken up and placed on her bed; she was sprinkled with water andvinegar; she was chafed and fanned; a burning quill was placed underher nose, but, as none of these little remedies could recall her tolife, medical help had to be sent for. Even when she came back to hersenses, another fainting-fit soon followed, so that she was almostthe whole day in a comatose state.
Meanwhile (Tripko having summoned hel
p), the house was filled withpeople, who all bustled about, talked very loud, asked and answeredtheir own questions. Those gifted with more imagination explained tothe others all the incidents of the murder. Last of all came theguards. Then they, with much ado and self-importance, managed toclear the house.
Though Mara would have liked to take Milena back home with her, stillthe doctors declared that it was impossible to remove her from herbed, where for many weeks she lay unconscious and between life anddeath, for a strong brain-fever followed the fainting-fits. Herfather and mother (who had come to take her away) tended her, andlove and care succeeded where medical science had failed.