The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

by P. Jones

CHAPTER VII

SEXAGESIMA

The days that followed the departure of the pobratim were sad ones indeed. The Zwillievics had gone back to Montenegro; then Milena, not having any excuse to remain longer a guest of the Bellacics, was obliged to go back with a sinking heart to her lonely, out-of-the-way cottage; a dreary house which had never been a home to her.

When the Christmas snow had melted away, a sudden strong gale of wind dried up the sods, so that the grass everywhere was withered and scorched; the very rocks themselves looked lean, pinched-up, bare and sharp. All nature had put on a wizened, wolfish, wintry appearance. The weather was not only cold, it was bleak and gloomy.

After a fortnight of a dull, overcast sky, it began to drizzle; everything smelt of mildew; the mouldy turf oozed with moisture, the rotting trees dripped with dampness. The world was decaying. If at times a ray of sunlight pierced the grey clouds, its pale yellow, languid light brought with it neither warmth nor comfort. Evidently the sun was pining away, dying; our bereaved planet was moaning for the loss of his life-giving light.

During all this time the dull sirocco never ceased to blow, either in a low, unending wail, or in louder and more fitful blasts. Usually, as soon as one gust had passed away, a stronger one came rolling down the mountain side, increasing in sound as it drew nearer; then passing, it died away in the distance.

These booming blasts made every mother think of her sailor boy, tossed far away on the raging mountain waves; wives lighted candles to St. Nicholas, for the safety of their husbands; whilst the girls thought of their lovers by day, and at night they dreamt continually of flowers, babies, stagnant waters, white grapes, lice and other such omens of ill-luck.

For poor, forlorn Milena, those days were like the murky morning hours that follow a night of revelry. She was dull, down-hearted, dispirited; nor had she, indeed, anything to cheer her up. In her utter solitude, she spun from the moment she got up to the moment she went to bed; interrupting herself only to eat a crust of bread and some olives, or else to mope listlessly. At times, however, her loneliness, and the utter stillness of her house, oppressed her in such a way that it almost drove her to distraction.

She mused continually over all the events of her life during the last months, after her merry girlhood had come to an end by that hateful and hasty marriage of hers; she recalled to mind that time of misery with her old miserly mother-in-law, who even counted the grains of parched Indian-corn she ate. Still, soon after this old dame's death, came that fated St. John's Eve. It was the first ray of sunlight in the gloom of her married life. It was also the first time she had seen Uros.

She had not fallen in love with him that evening; she had only liked him because he was good-looking and his ways were so winning. Everybody was fond of him, he was so winsome.

Little by little, after that, his presence began to haunt her, his face was always before her eyes. When she woke in the morning, his name was on her lips. Still, that was not love; she even fancied she only liked to teaze him because she was a married woman, a matron, whilst he was but a boy; moreover, he was so shy.

When Radonic came home, she woke to the stern reality of life; she at last found out that she hated her husband and loved Uros, who, though a boy, was, withal, older than herself. That was the time when Radonic's rage being roused by Vranic, he had almost killed Milenko. Then, lastly, shuddering and appalled, she remembered that night when Uros came to sing his farewell song.

She stopped spinning now; the corners of her pretty, childish mouth were drawn down; she hid her face between her hands, whilst the tears trickled slowly through her fingers.

Why had she been so foolishly weak? Now the thought of that night drove her mad. Could she but blot away the past months and begin life anew!

Alas! what was done could never be undone. She rocked herself on her stool in a brown study. What was she to do? What was to become of her?

Radonic would return in a few months; then he would kill her. That, at least, would put a stop to her misery. But the thought of having to live for months in mortal dread was worse than death itself. The maddest thoughts came to her mind. She would leave Budua, dress up as a boy, go off to Cattaro, embark for some distant town. And then?

Far away the people spoke a gibberish she could not understand, and they were heathens, who even ate meat on fast-days. These thoughts, in her loneliness, were almost driving her to distraction, when, unexpectedly, her husband came back home. His ship, in a tempest, had been dashed against a reef, off the shores of Ustica, the westernmost of the Æolian Islands. Not only the vessel, but also the cargo, and even two sailors, were lost.

On seeing her husband appear before her, Milena felt all her blood freeze within her veins. She had disliked Radonic from the very first moment she had cast her eyes upon him; since her marriage her antipathy had increased with his ill-treatment, so that now she positively loathed him.

Still, when the first moment of almost insurmountable dread was over, she heaved a deep sigh of relief. His return was a godsend to her. Had he not just come in time to save her from ignominy? She even mastered herself so far as to make Radonic believe that she was glad to see him, that she was longing for his return, and for a while he believed it. Still, when his mouth was pressed on hers, as he clasped her fondly in his arms, the kiss he gave her now was even worse than the first one she had received from him on her wedding-day. It seemed as if he had seared her lips with burning, cauterising steel. After a day or two, she could not keep up this degrading comedy any longer; her whole being revolted against it in such a way that Radonic himself could not help noticing how obnoxious his presence was to her.

She was, however, glad about one thing. Her husband, having lost his large vessel and all his costly cargo, for he had of late been trading on his own account, would not be able to settle down in Budua, as he had intended doing; then, being now quite poor, people would not be envying her any more. What good had her husband's riches done to her? None at all.

Even in that she was doomed to disappointment. The widow of one of the sailors who had got drowned at Ustica came to beg for a pittance. She had several little children at home clamouring for bread. Milena gave her some flour and some oil, and promised to speak to her husband.

"But," said she, "we, too, are very poor now."

"Poor!" replied the woman. "Why, you are richer now than you ever were."

"How, if we've lost our ship with all its cargo?"

"Yes, but it was insured."

"Insured? What's that?"

"You mustn't ask me, for I'm only a poor ignorant woman. Only they say that when a ship is insured, you get far more money for it than it was ever really worth."

"And who is to give you money for a few planks rotting at the bottom of the sea, or some stray spars washed ashore?" asked Milena, incredulously.

"Who? Ah! that's more than I can tell. Anyhow, I know it's true, for all that."

Milena, astonished, stared at the poor woman. She asked herself whether grief had not muddled the widow's brain. No, she did not look insane.

"Who told you such foolish things, my poor Stosija?" said she, enquiringly, after a while; "for you know very well that you are speaking nonsense."

"It is no nonsense, for the pop himself told me."

Milena's bewilderment increased.

"Moreover, the priest added that insurances are one of the many sacrilegious inventions which lead men to perdition." Then, lowering her voice to a whisper: "They have a pact with Satan."

Milena drew back appalled.

"When a ship is insured the owners care very little what becomes of the precious lives they have on board. The captains themselves get hardened. They do not light any more tapers to St. Nicholas to send them prosperous gales; the priests offer no more prayers for their safety; and, as for silver ex-votos, why, no one thinks of them any more. The pop is so angry that he says, if he had his own way, he'd excommunicate every captain, even every sailor, embarking on an insured ship."

"Mercy on us!" quoth Milena, crossing herself repeatedly.

"In fact, since all these new-fangled, heathenish inventions, you hear of nothing but fires on land and shipwrecks at sea. People once went to bed as soon as it was dark; at eight o'clock every fire and every light was put out. Now, people will soon be turning night into day, as they do in Francezka and Vnetci (Venice), flying thus in the very face of God Himself. Now all the rotten ships are sent to sea, where they founder at the very first storm. It isn't true, perhaps?"

"Aye, it must be true," sighed Milena, "if the pop says so."

"Once fires and shipwrecks were sent as punishments to the wicked, or as trials to the good; now, with the insurances, God Himself has been deprived of His scourge. The wicked prosper, the rich grow richer, and as for the poor—even the Virgin Mary and all the saints turn a deaf ear to them."

Milena shook her head despondingly.

"For instance," continued Stosija, "would the miser's heart ever have been touched, had his barns been insured."

"What miser?" asked Milena.

"Is it possible that you don't know the story of 'Old Nor and the
Miser'?"

"Oh! it's a story," added Milena, disappointed.

"Yes, it's a story, but it's true for all that, for it happened at Grohovo, and my grandfather, who was alive at that time, knew both the miser and the idiot. Well, the miser—who had as much money as his trees had leaves, and that is more than he could count—was one day brewing rakee, when an old man, who lived on the public charity, or in doing odd jobs that could be entrusted to him, stopped at his door.

"'I smell rakee,' said Old Nor" (ninny), "who, by-the-bye, was not quite such an idiot as he was believed to be.

"'Oh, you do!' quoth the miser, sneeringly.

"'Yes,' said Nor, his eyes twinkling and his mouth watering.

"'And I suppose you'd like to taste some?'

"'That I should; will you give me a sip?'

"'Why not?'

"Thereupon the miser dipped a small ladle in a kettle of boiling water and offered it to Old Nor.

"The idiot drank down the hot water without wincing.

"'It's good, isn't it?' asked the rich man.

"'Delicious!' and the old man smacked his lips.

"'It warms the pit of your stomach nicely?'

"'It even burns it.'

"'It's rare stuff, I can tell you; will you have some more?'

"'It's of your own brewing, one can see; I'll have some more.'

"The miser once more dipped the ladle in the hot water and offered it again to the beggar, who quaffed the contents unflinchingly.

"'You see, bad tongues say I'm a miser, but it's all slander; for when I like a fellow, I'd give him the shirt off my back, and I like you, Old Nor. Will you have another ladleful?'

"'Willingly,' and the ninny's eyes flashed.

"Thereupon he again swallowed up the scalding water, but not a muscle of his face twitched.

"'Are you not afraid it'll go to your head, old man?' asked the miser, mischievously.

"'Old Nor's head isn't muddled with so little,' added he, scowling.

"'Then try another cup?'

"'No,' replied the ninny, shaking his head, 'for to-day I've had enough. As soon as the Cesar' (emperor) 'sends me the money he owes me, and I marry the Virgin Mary—for that was his craze—I'll give you something that'll warm the pit of your stomach, too.'

"Then he turned round and went off without any thanks or wishing the blessing of God on the miser's dwelling, as he was wont to do.

"The miser's house was all surrounded by sheds, storehouses and stables; barns groaning under the weight of corn, hay and straw; his sacks were heaped with flour and wheat; his cellars overflowed with wine and oil; in his dairies you could have bathed in milk, for he neither lacked cows, nor sheep, nor goats. Well, not long after the beggar had been scalded with hot water, a fire broke out in his granaries at night, and all the wealth that was stored therein was wasted by fire.

"The miser grieved and lamented, but he soon had masons and bricklayers come from all around, and in a short time they built him finer stables, sheds and stores than the old ones; and after the harvest was gathered, and the aftermath was garnered, and all the outer buildings were filled, with the grace of God, a terrible fire broke out one morning, and before the men could bring any help, for the flames rose fiercely on every side like living springs that have burst their flood-gates, so that the water poured down upon it only scattered the fire far around, and the fine new buildings came crumbling down with a crash, just like houses built upon sand. Then the miser had new masons and bricklayers, and also architects and engineers. Soon they built him stately store-houses of stone and beautiful barns of bricks, higher, vaster and stronger than the former ones. These granaries were like palaces, and a wonder in the land. When the fruits of the field were gathered and the heart of the miser was rejoiced at the sight of so much wealth, then, in the middle of the day, as he was seated at table eating cakes overflowing with honey, and quaffing down bumpers of wine, then the fire broke out in his barns, and, behold, his buildings looked like a dreadful dragon spouting and spurting sparks of fire, and vomiting out volumes of smoke and flames. It was, indeed, a terrible sight.

"The rich man saw at last that the hand of God was weighing upon him, and he felt himself chastened. He cast about for some time, not knowing what to do. So he took a fat calf and two lambs and a kid, and killed them; and he cooked them; and he baked bread; and he invited all his acquaintances, rich and poor, to a feast, where he spared neither wine nor slivovitz; and he did not scald their throats with hot water, but with his own strong rakee. Then, when they had all eaten and were merry, he said to them:

"'The Lord, in His mercy, has scourged me—for whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth—He has given me a warning and a foretaste of what might be awaiting me hereafter. Therefore, I am humbled, and I submit; but if God has chosen any one among you to chastise me, kindly tell me, and I swear, on my soul, on the Cross of our Saviour, Who died for our sins, not only never to harm him, but to forgive him freely.'

"Thereupon Old Nor rose and said:

"'Gospod, it is I who have burnt down your barns. One day I passed by your door and begged you for a draught of the liquor you were brewing; then you offered me scalding water, and when I gulped it down you laughed at me because you thought me witless. Three times did I drink down the fiery water you offered me; three times did I consume with fire all the barns that surround your house. Still, I only made you see, but not taste, fire, for I might have burned you down in your house, like a rat in his hole, and then the pit of your stomach would have been warm indeed; but I did not do so, because I am Old Nor, and the little children jibe and the big children jeer at me, and all laugh and make mouths at me.'

"The rich man bowed down his head, rebuked. Then he stretched out his arms and clasped the beggar to his breast, saying:

"'Brother, you are, after all, a better and a wiser man than I am, for if I was wicked to you, it was only out of sheer wantonness.'

"Then he plied him, not with warm water, but with sparkling wine and strong slivovitz, and sent him home jolly drunk. From that time he mended his ways, gave pence to the poor, presents to the pop, candles and incense to the Church. Therefore, he was beloved by all who knew him, his barns groaned again with the gifts of God, his flocks and his herds increased by His blessings.

"Now, tell me. If the insurance company had paid him for the damage every time his barns had been burnt, would he have been happy with his ill-gotten wealth? No; his heart might have been hardened, and Satan at last have got possession of his soul."

That evening Milena referred to her husband all that Stosija had said to her. Radonic scowled at his wife, and then he grunted:

"The pop—like all priests, in fact—is a drivelling old idiot; so he had better mind his own business, that is, mumble his meaningless prayers, and not meddle with what he doesn't understand."

"What! is there anything a pop doesn't understand?" asked Milena, astonished.

Radonic laughed.

"Oh! he'll soon see something that'll make his jaw fall and his eyes start from their sockets."

"And what's that?"

"A thing which you yourself won't believe in—a ship without masts."

"And what are its sails tied to?"

"It needs no sails; it has only a big chimney, a black funnel, that sends forth clouds of smoke, flames and sparks; then, two tremendous wheels that go about splashing and churning the water into a mass of beautiful spray, with a thundering noise; then, every now and then, it utters a shrill cry that is heard miles away."

"Holy Virgin!" gasped Milena; "but it must be like Svet Gjorgje's dragon!"

"Oh!" sneered Radonic, "St. George's dragon was but a toy to it."

"And where have you seen this monster?"

"It isn't a monster at all; it's a steamer. I saw one on my last voyage. It came from the other side of the world, from that country where the sun at midday looks just like a burnished copper plate."

"Of course," added Milena, nodding, "if it's on the other side of the earth, they can only see the sun after it's set. But where is that place of darkness? Is it Kitay?"

"Oh, no! it's Englezka."

"But to return to what the pop said. Then it's true that you'll get more money for your ship even than what it was worth?"

"Whether I get more or whether I get less, I'm not going to keep all the beggars of the town with the money the insurance company will give me. If sailors don't want their wives to go begging and their brats to starve, they can insure their lives, or not get married. As for Stosija, you can tell her to go to the pop, and not come bothering here; though I doubt whether a priest will even say a prayer for you without the sight of your money. Anyhow, to-morrow I start for Cattaro, where I hope to settle the insurance business."

On the morrow Radonic went off, and Milena heaved a deep sigh of relief; for, although the utter loneliness in which she lived was at times unbearable to her, still it was better than her husband's unkindness.

Alas! no sooner had Radonic started than Vranic came with his odious solicitations, for nothing would discourage that man. In her innocence she could rely on her strength, so she had spurned him from her. She had till then never been afraid of any man. Was she not a Montenegrin? She had, in many a skirmish, not only loaded her father's guns, but also fired at the Turks herself; nor had she ever missed her man. Still, since that fateful night all her courage was gone. Was Vranic not a seer, a man who could peer into his fellow creatures as if they were crystal? Did he not know that she had sinned? He had told her that all her struggles were unavailing; she was like the swallow when the snake fascinates it. She, therefore, had been cowed down to such a degree that she almost felt herself falling into his clutches.

Not knowing what to do, she had gone to Mara, and had confessed part of her troubles to her; she had asked her for help against Vranic. Although Uros' mother did not dabble in witchcraft, still she was a woman with great experience. So she thought for a while, and then she gave Milena a tiny bit of red stuff, and told her to wear it under her left arm-pit; it was the most powerful spell she knew of, and people could not harm her as long as she wore it. She followed Mara's advice; but Vranic was a seer, and such simples were powerless against him.

Radonic came back from Cattaro, and, by his humour, things must have gone on well for him; still, strange to say, he brought no money back with him. He only said he had put his money in a bank, so that he might get interest for it, till such times when he should buy another ship.

"And what is a bank?" asked Milena, astonished.

Radonic shrugged his shoulders, and answered peevishly, that she was too stupid to understand such things. "Montenegrins," he added, "have no banks, nor any money to put in banks; they only know how to fight against the Turks."

For a few days Milena asked all her acquaintances what a bank was, and at last she was informed that it was like insurances, one of those modern inventions made to enrich the rich. Putting money in a bank was like sinking a deep well. After that you were not only supplied for your lifetime, but your children and the children of your children were then provided for; for who can drink the water of a well and dry it up?

For Milena, all these things were wonders which she could not understand. She only sighed, and thought that Stosija was right when she had said to her that this world was for the wealthy; the poor were nowhere, not even in church.

Although Radonic had come back, still Vranic, far from desisting from his suit, became always more pressing; for he seemed quite sure that she would never speak to her husband against him. Once more she went to Mara and asked her for advice.

"Why not mention the subject to your husband?" asked her friend.

"First, I dare not; then, it would be quite useless. He would not believe me; Vranic has him entirely under his power. In fact, I am quite sure if Radonic is unbearable, it is the seer who sets him on to bait me."

"But to what purpose?"

"Because he thinks that, sooner or later, I'll be driven to despair, and find myself at his mercy. Though I'm no seer myself, still I see through him."

Withal Uros' mother was a woman of great experience, still, she could not help her friend; she only comforted her in a motherly way, and her heart yearned for her.

As Milena, weary and dejected, was slowly trudging homewards, she saw, not far from her house, a small animal leisurely crossing a field. Was it a cat? She stood stock-still for a moment and stared. Surely, it was neither a hare, nor a rabbit, nor a dog. It was a big, dark-coloured cat! How her heart began to beat at that sight!

At that moment she forgot that it was almost dusk, that the days were still short, that the light was vanishing fast. She forgot that it would be very disagreeable meeting Vranic—always lurking thereabout—that her husband would soon be coming home. In fact, forgetting everything and everybody, she began running after the cat, which scampered off the moment it saw her. Still, the quicker the cat ran, the quicker Milena went after it.

Of course, she knew quite well, as you and I would have known, that the cat was no cat at all, for real pussies are quiet, home-loving pets, taking, at most, a stroll on the pantiles, but never go roaming about the fields as dogs are sometimes apt to do.

That cat, of course, was a witch—not a simple baornitza, but a real sorceress, able to do whatever she chose to put her hand to.

The nimble cat ran with the speed of a stone hurled from a sling, and Milena, panting, breathless, stumbling every now and then, ran after it with all her might. Several times the fleet-footed animal disappeared; still, she was not disheartened, but ran on and came in sight of it after some time. At last, she saw the cat run straight towards a distant cottage. Milena slackened her speed, then she stopped to look round.

The cottage was built on a low muddy beach. She remembered having been in that lonely spot once before with Uros; she had seen the strand all covered with bloated bluish medusas, melting away in the sun.

With a beating heart and quivering limbs Milena stopped on the threshold of the hut, and looked about her for the cat. The door was ajar; perhaps it had gone in. For a moment she hesitated whether she should turn on her heels and run off or enter.

A powerful witch like that could, all at once, assume the most horrible shape, and frighten her out of her wits!

As she stood there, undecided as to what she was to do, the door opened, as if by a sudden blast of wind, and there was no time to retreat. Milena then, to her surprise, saw an old woman standing in the middle of the hut. She was quietly breaking sticks and putting them on a smouldering fire. As for the cat, it was, of course, nowhere to be seen.

The old woman, almost bent double by age, turned, and seeing Milena, smiled. Her face did not express the slightest fear or ill-humour, nay, she seemed as if she had been expecting her.

"Good evening, domlada," said the old woman, with a most winning voice, "have you lost your way, or is there anything you want of me?"

Milena hesitated; had she been spoken to in a rough, disagreeable manner, she would, doubtless, have been daunted by the thought that she was putting her soul in jeopardy by having recourse to the witch; but the woman's voice was so soft and soothing, her words so encouraging, her ways so motherly, that, getting over her nervousness, she went in at once, and, almost without knowing it, she found herself induced to relate all her troubles to this utter stranger.

"First, if you want me to help you," said the old woman, "you must try and help yourself."

"And how so?"

"By thinking as little as possible of a handsome youth who is now at sea."

Milena blushed.

"Then you must bear your husband's ill-humour, even his blows, patiently, and, little by little, get him to understand what kind of a man Vranic is. Radonic is in love with you; therefore, 'the sack cannot remain without the twine.' You must not fear Vranic; 'the place of the uninvited guest is, you know, behind the door.' Moreover, to protect you against him, I'll give you a most powerful charm."

Saying this, she went to a large wooden chest and got out of it a little bag, which she handed to Milena.

"In it," whispered the old woman, mysteriously, "there is some hair of a wolf that has tasted human flesh, the claw of a rabid old cat, a tiny bit of a murdered man's skull, a few leaflets of rue gathered on St. John's Night under a gibbet, and some other things. It is a potent spell; still, efficient as it is, you must help it in its work."

Milena promised the old woman to be guided entirely by her advice.

"Remember never to give way to Vranic in the least, for, even with my charm, if you listen to him you might become his prey. You must not do like the dove did."

"And what did the dove do?"

"What! don't you know? Well, sit down there, and I'll tell you."

"But I'm afraid I'll be troubling you."

"Not at all; besides, I'll prepare my soup while I chat."

"Still, I'm afraid my husband might get home and not find me; then——"

"Then you'll keep him a little longer at the inn."

Saying these words, the witch threw some vegetables in the pot simmering on the hob, and on the fire something like a pinch of salt, for at once the wood began to splutter and crackle; after that, she went to the door and looked out.

"See how it pours!" said she. "Radonic will have to wait till the rain is over."

Milena shuddered and crossed herself; she was more than ever convinced that the old woman was a mighty sorceress who had command over the wind and the rain.

"Well," began the stari-mati, "once a beautiful white dove had built her nest in a large tree; she laid several eggs, hatched them, and had as many lovely dovelets. One day, a sly old fox, passing underneath, began leering at the dove from the corner of his eye, as old men ogle pretty girls at windows. The dove got uneasy. Thereupon, the fox ordered the bird to throw down one of her young ones. 'If you don't, I swear by my whiskers to climb up the tree and gobble you down, you ——, and all your young ones.'

"The poor dove was in sore trouble, and, quaking with fear, seeing the fox lay its front paws on the trunk of the tree, she, flurried as she was, caught one of her little ones by its neck and threw it down. The fox made but a mouthful of it, grumbling withal that it was such a meagre morsel.

"'Mind and fatten those that are left, for I'll call again to-morrow, and if the others are only skin and bones, as the little scarecrow you've thrown me down is, you'll have, at least, to give me two.'

"The fox went off. The poor dove remained in her nest, mourning over her lost little one, and shuddering as she thought of the morrow. Just then another bird happened to perch above the branch where the dove had her nest.

"'I say, dove,' said the other bird, 'what's up, that you are cooing in such a dreary, disconsolate way?'

"The dove thereupon related all that had happened.

"'Oh, you simpleton! oh, you fool!' quoth the other bird, 'how could you have been so silly as to believe the sly old fox? You ought to have known that foxes cannot climb trees; therefore, when he comes to-morrow, ordering you to throw him down a couple of your little ones, just you tell him to come up himself and get them.'

"The day after, when the fox came for his meal, the dove simply answered:

"'Don't you wish you may get it!'

"And the dove laughed in her sleeve to see the fox look so sheepish.

"'Who told you that?' said Reynard; 'you never thought of it yourself, you are too stupid.'

"'No,' quoth the dove, 'I did not. The bird that has built her nest by the sedges near the river told it me.'

"'So,' said the fox; and he turned round and went off to the bird that had built her nest by the river sedges, without even saying ta-ta to the dove. He soon found her out.

"'I say, bird, what made you build your nest in such a breezy spot?' said the fox, with a twinkling eye.

"'Oh! I don't mind the wind,' said the bird. 'For instance, when it blows from the north-east, I put my head under my left wing, like this."

"Thereupon, the bird put its head under its left wing, and peeped at the fox with its right eye.

"'And when it blows from the south-west?' asked the fox.

"'Then I do the contrary.'

"And the bird put its head under its right wing, and peeped at the fox with its left eye.

"'And when it blows from every side of the compass at once?'

"'It never does,' said the bird, laughing.

"'Yes it does; in a hurricane.'

"'Then I cover my head with both my wings, like this.'

"No sooner had the poor bird buried her head under both her wings, than the sly old fox jumped at her, and ate her up.

"But," said the witch, finishing her story, "if you are like the dove, I'm not like the bird of the sedges; and Vranic would find me rather tough to eat me up. And now, hurry home, my dear; if ever you want me again, you know where to find me."

The rain had ceased, and Milena, thanking the old woman for her kindness, went off. She had been back but a few minutes when Radonic returned home, ever so much the worse for drink. Not finding any supper ready, he at first began to grumble; then, little by little, thinking himself very ill-used, he got into a tremendous rage. Having reached this paroxysm of wrath, he set to smash all the crockery that he could lay his hands on, whilst Milena, terrified, went and shut herself up in the next room, and peeped at him through the keyhole.

When he had broken a sufficient number of plates and dishes, he felt vexed at having vented his rage in such a foolish way, then to pity himself at having such a worthless wife, who left him without supper, and growing sentimental, he began to groan and hiccough and curse, till he at last rolled off the stool on which he had been rocking himself, and went to sleep on the floor.

On the morrow the husband was moody, the wife sad; neither of them spoke or looked at the other. The whole of that day, Milena—in her loneliness—revolved within her mind what she would do to get rid of Vranic's importunities, and, above all, how she could prevent him from harming Uros, as he had threatened to do.

The day passed away slowly; in the evening Radonic came home more drunk than he had ever been, therefore maliciously angry and spiteful.

The front room of the house, like that of almost all other cottages, was a large but dark and dismal-looking chamber, pierced with several small windows, all thickly grated; the ceiling was raftered, and pieces of smoked mutton, wreaths of onions, bundles of herbs, and other provisions dangled down from hooks, or nails, driven in nearly every beam. As in all country-houses, the hearth was built in the very midst of this room, and the smoke, curling upwards, found an outlet from a hole in the roof. That evening, as it was pouring and blowing, the gusts of wind and rain prevented the smoke from finding its way out.

Milena was seated on a three-legged stool at a corner of the hearth, by a quaint, somewhat prehistoric, kind of earthenware one-wick oil-lamp, which gave rather less light than our night-lamps usually do, though it flickered and sputtered and smoked far more. She was sewing a very tiny bit of a rag, but she took much pride in it, for every now and then she looked at it with the fond eyes of a girl sewing her doll's first bodice. Hearing her husband's step on the shingle just outside, she started to her feet, thrust the rag away, looking as if she had almost been caught doing something very guilty. After that she began mixing the soup boiling in the pot with great alacrity.

Radonic was not a handsome man at the best of times, but now, besotted by drink, shuffling and reeling, he was positively loathsome. He stopped for a moment on the sill to look at his wife, grinning at her in a half-savage, half-idiotic way.

Milena shuddered when she saw him, and turned her eyes away. He evidently noticed the look of horror she cast on him, for holding himself to the door-post with one hand, he shook the other at her, in his increasing anger.

"What have you been doing all the day?—gadding about, or sitting on the door-step to beckon to the youths who pass by?" he said, in a thick, throaty voice, interrupted every now and then with a drunken hiccough. Then he let go the door-post and shuffled in.

"A fine creature, a very fine creature, a slut, a good-for-nothing slut, not worth the salt she eats! You hear, madam? you hear, darling? it's to you I'm speaking."

Milena stood pale, awe-stricken, twisting the fringe of her apron round her fingers, looking at him with amazement. It was certainly not the first time in her life that she had seen a drunken man; still, she had never known anyone so fiendish when tipsy.

"A nice kind of woman for a fellow to marry," he went on, "a thing that stands twisting her fingers from morning to night, but who cannot find time to prepare a little supper for a hungry man, in the evening." Then, with a grunt: "What have you been doing the whole of the live-long day?"

Milena did not answer.

"I say, will you speak? by the Virgin, will you speak? or I'll slap that stupid sallow face of yours till I make it red with your blood."

Milena did try to answer, but the words stuck in her throat and would not come out. Radonic thought she was defying him.

"Ah, you'll not answer! You were fooling about the town, or sitting at the window eating pumpkin seeds, waiting for the dogs that pass to admire those meaningless eyes of yours. They are dark, it's true, but I'll make them ten times darker."

Thereupon he made a rush at her, but, swift-footed as she was, she ran on the opposite side of the room. She glanced at the door, but he had shut and bolted it, therefore—being afraid that he might be upon her before she managed to open it—she only kept running round the hearth, waiting till chance afforded her some better way of escape.

He ran after her for some time, but, drunk and asthmatic as he was, he stopped at last, irritated by his non-success. Vexed at seeing a faint smile on her lips, he took up a plate, that had been spared from the day before, and shied it at her. She was too quick for him, for she deftly moved aside, and the plate was smashed against an oaken press.

He gnashed his teeth with rage and showed her his fists; then he bent down, picked up a log, and flourished it wildly about. She at once made for the door. He flung the piece of wood at her with all his might. She once more stooped to avoid it, but, in her eagerness to get out, she was this time rather flurried; moreover, the missile hurled at her was, this time, much bigger than the former one, so that the log just caught her at the back of her head. She uttered a shrill cry, and fell on the ground in a death-like swoon.

Radonic, seeing Milena fall, thought he had killed her. He felt at that moment such a terrible fright that it seemed to him as if a thunderbolt had come down upon him.

He grew deathly pale, his jaw fell, he began to tremble from head to foot, just as when he had a fit of the ague. His teeth chattered, his knees were broken, his joints relaxed. He had never in his whole life felt such a fright. In a moment his drunkenness seemed to vanish, and he was again in his senses.

"Milena," said he, in a faint, quivering, moaning tone. "Milena, my love!"

She did not answer, she did not move; to all appearance she was dead.

The muscles of his throat were twitching in such a way that he almost fancied someone had stabbed him through the neck.

Was she now worth her salt to him? he asked himself bitterly; aye, he would give all his money to bring her back to life if he only could.

He wanted to go up to her, but his feet seemed rooted to the spot where he stood; with widely opened eyes he stared at the figure lying motionless on the floor. Was the blood trickling from her head? A moment afterwards he was kneeling down by her side, lifting her up tenderly; for, brute as he was, he loved her.

She was not dead, for her heart was beating still. Her head was bleeding; but the cut was very slight, hardly skin deep. He began to bathe her face with water, and tried to recall her to her senses. Still her fainting-fit, owing, perhaps, to the state of her health, lasted for some time; and those moments of torture seemed for him everlasting.

At last Milena opened her eyes; and seeing her husband's face bent close upon hers, she shuddered, and tried to free herself from his arms.

"Ljuba," said Radonic, "forgive me. I was a brute; but I didn't mean to harm you."

"It's a pity you didn't kill me; then there would have been an end to this wretched life of mine."

"Do you hate me so very much?"

"Have I any reason to love you?"

"Forgive me, my love. I've been drinking to-night; and when the wine gets to my head, then I know I'm nasty."

"No, you hate me, and I know why."

"Why?"

"Vranic sets you against me; and when your anger is roused, and your brain muddled, you come and want to kill me."

Radonic did not reply.

"But rather than torture me as you do, kill me at once, to please your friend."

Milena stopped for an instant; then she began again, in a lower tone:

"And that man is doubtless there, behind that door, listening to all that has happened."

Radonic ground his teeth, clenched his fists, snorted like a high-mettled horse, started up, and would have rushed to the door had Milena not prevented him.

"No," said she, "do not be so rash. Abide your time; catch him on the hip."

"Why does he hate you?"

"Can't you guess? Did he not want to marry me?"

Radonic groaned.

"Oh! it would not be a difficult matter to turn Vranic into a friend; but I prefer being beaten by you than touched by that fiend."

Radonic started like a mad bull; and, not knowing what to do, he gave the table such a mighty thump that he nearly shivered it.

"Listen! Yesterday, when you had rolled on the floor, and were sleeping away your drunken rage——"

"Then?"

"I went to sit on the doorstep——"

"Well, go on."

"A moment afterwards Vranic was standing in front of me."

The husband's eyes flashed with rage.

"Knowing that you would not wake, he begged me to let him come in. He saw me wretched and forlorn; he would comfort me."

"You lie!" He hissed these words out through his set teeth, and caught hold of her neck to throttle her. Then, all at once, he turned his mad rage against himself, and thumped his head with all his strength, exclaiming:

"Fool, fool, fool that I am!" Then, after a short silence, and with a sullen look: "And you, what did you do?"

"I got up, came in, and slammed the door in his face."

Radonic caught his wife in his arms, and kissed her.

"Tell me one thing more. Where were you yesterday evening?"

She smiled.

"Where do you think I was? Well, I'll tell you, because you'll never guess. I was at the witch's, who lives down there by the sea shore."

"What for?"

"Because I'm tired of this life. I went to ask her for a charm against your bosom friend."

"And what can a foolish old woman do for you?" said the husband, trying to put on a sceptical look.

"I have not been all over the world as you have; still, I know that our blood also is red."

"And what did the baornitza tell you?"

"That a flowing beard is but a vain ornament when the head is light."

Radonic shrugged his shoulders and tried not to wince.

"Besides, she gave me this charm;" and showing him her amulet, she begged him to wear it for a few days. "It will not do you any harm; wear it for my sake, even if you don't believe in it," she pleaded softly.

Radonic yielded, and allowed Milena to fasten the little bag round his neck, looking deep into her beautiful eyes uplifted towards his. She blushed, feeling the fire of his glances.

"And now," added she, with a sigh of relief, "he'll break his viper's fangs against that bone, if our proverbs are true."

Radonic tried to keep up his character of an esprit-fort, and said:
"Humbug!" but there was a catch in his voice as he uttered this word.

"Now, I feel sure that as long as you have this talisman you'll not open your mouth or reveal a single word of what I've told you."

"Whom do you take me for?"

"Yes, but at times our very eyes deceive us; moreover, Vranic is a man to whom everybody is like glass. He reads your innermost thoughts."

"He is sharp; nothing more, I tell you."

"Anyhow, that is a powerful charm, and if you'll only dissimulate——"

"Oh! I can be a match for him if I like."

"You must promise me one thing more."

"What is it?"

"No knives; no bloodshed."

Radonic did not answer for a moment, but cast on Milena an angry look, his hand seeking the handle of his knife.

"Will you promise?"

"Are you so fond of him that you are frightened I'll kill him?"

"I hate him."

"Then——"

"Still, it is no reason to murder him."

Radonic seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"Moreover, he is weak and puny, whilst you are made of iron." She laid her hand on his shoulder. "No knives, then; it's understood?"

"I promise to use no knife."

The morrow was a beautiful day; winter seemed already to be waking from its short sleep. The sun was shining brightly, and as the breeze was fresh and bracing, his cheerful warmth was pleasant, especially for people who have to depend upon his rays for their only heat. Spring seemed already to be at hand, and, in fact, the first violets and primroses might have been seen glinting in sunny spots.

Milena was returning from market, and her eyes were wandering far on the wide expanse of glittering blue waters, but her thoughts, like fleet halcyons, dived far away into the hazy distance, unfathomable to the sight itself, and she hummed to herself the following song:

"A crystal rill I fain would be,
And down the deep dell then I'd go;
Close to his cottage I would flow.
Thus every morn my love I'd see,
Oft to his lips I might be pressed,
And nestle close unto his breast."

Then she sighed and tried not to think, for hers, indeed, was forlorn hope.

All at once she heard someone walking behind her, coming nearer and nearer. She hastened her steps; still, the person who followed her walked on quicker.

"What a hurry you are in, Milena," said Vranic, coming up to her.

"Oh! is it you?" she replied, with feigned surprise; then she shuddered, thinking that she had not her amulet, and was at the mercy of this artful man. "You frightened me."

"Dear me, I'm afraid I'm always frightening you! Still, believe me, I'd give my soul to the devil for one of your smiles, for a good word from you, Milena."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Children are deceived with cakes, women with sweet words, they say."

He cast a sidelong glance at her.

"You don't look well, to-day; you are pale."

"Am I?"

"Yes; what's the matter?"

"How can I look well, with that brute of a husband of mine?"

"Ah, yes! he got home rather the worse for drink yesterday evening, didn't he?"

"You ought to know; you were with him."

"Well, yes, I was; at least, part of the evening."

"And when he was as mad as a wild bull, you sent him home to me, didn't you?"

"I?"

"Vranic, when will you finish persecuting me? What have I done to you?"

"Milena, it is true I am bad; but is it my fault? has not the world made me what I am? Why have I not a right to my share of happiness as other men?"

"I am sorry for you, Vranic, but what can I do for you?"

"You can do whatever you like with me, make me as good as a lamb."

"How?"

"Have pity on me; I love you!"

"How can you say you love me, when you have tried to harm me in every possible way?"

"I was jealous; besides, I saw that you hated me, therefore you know it was my only chance of success. In love and in war all means are good."

She shuddered; still, she managed to master herself and hide the loathing she felt for him.

"So you thought that, after having driven me to distraction——"

"I should be your friend in need."

"Fine friend." Then after a pause: "Anyhow, my present life is such that, rather than bear it any longer, I'll go and drown myself some day or other."

"You'd never do that, Milena."

"Why not? Therefore, if you care for me ever so little, use your influence over Radonic, undo your work, get him to be a little less of a brute than he has been of late."

"And then you'll laugh at me?"

"Who does good can expect better," and she tried to look at him less harshly than she was wont to do, and did not turn her eyes away from him.

"No, Milena, first——"

"What! first the pay, then the work? It would be against the proverb."

"Then promise me at least that you will try to love me a little?"

"No," said she, with a toss of her pretty head, and a smile in her mischievous, sparkling eyes; "I promise nothing."

He thereupon took her hand and kissed it, saying:

"I am making a poor bargain, for I am sure that your heart is empty."

"If you cannot manage to awaken love in an empty heart, it will be your fault; besides, you can always be in time to undo your work."

"How so?"

"You have me in your power, for Radonic, in your hands, is as pliable as putty, is he not?"

"Perhaps!" and the wrinkles of his cheeks deepened into a grim smile.

"Then let my husband come home a little less cross than he has been of late, will you?" she said, in a coaxing tone, and her voice had for him all the sweetness of the nightingale's trill.

"I'll try," and his blinking, grey-green eyes gloated upon her, whilst that horrible cast in them made her shiver and feel sick; but then she thought of Uros, and the idea that his life might be in danger by the power this man wielded over her husband made her conceal her real state of feelings and smile upon him pleasantly.

He put his arm round her waist, and whispered words of love into her ear, words that seemed to sink deep into her flesh and blister her; and she felt like a bird, covered over with slime by a snake, before being swallowed up.

He, at that moment—withal he was a seer—fancied Milena falling in his arms; his persevering love had conquered at last. Radonic would now be sent away to sea again, perhaps never to come back, and he would remain the undisputed master of Milena's heart.

"Well, love me a little and I'll change your life from a hell into a heaven. I'll read your slightest wish in your eyes to satisfy it."

"Thank you," she said, shuddering, disengaging herself from his grasp, but feeling herself growing pale.

"What is the matter, my love?" he asked.

"Nothing, only I told you I was not feeling well; my husband almost killed me yesterday."

"Well, I promise that it'll be the last time he touches you."

They had now reached the door of her house, and Vranic, after having renewed his protestations, went off, whilst Milena entered the house and locked herself in.

That evening Radonic came home rather earlier than usual. He was sober, but in a sullen mood, and looked at Milena sheepishly. She set the supper on the table and waited upon him; when he had finished, she took the dish and sat down on the hearth to have her meal.

"Well," quoth Radonic, puffing at his pipe, "have you seen Vranic to-day?"

"Yes, I met him when I was coming home from market."

"Henceforth," said he, "I forbid you going to market again."

"Very well," said she, meekly.

"And?"

"He accompanied me home."

"And what did he say?"

"That you were pulpy, therefore he could do with you whatever he liked."

"Ah! he said that, did he?" and in his rage Radonic broke his pipe.
"Then?"

"He would first undo his work, make you as gentle as a lamb, then he would send you off to sea, and——"

Radonic muttered a fearful oath between his teeth.

"Can't you understand? Has he not spoken well of me?"

"He has, the villain, and it wanted all my patience not to clutch him by the neck and pluck his vile tongue out of his mouth—but I'll bide my time."