CHAPTER XXII
THE "GIUSTIZIA DI DIO"
Since his departure, Milenko had never received any letters from his parents, for, in those times of sailing-ships, captains got news from home casually, by means of such fellow-countrymen as they chanced to meet, rather than through the post. Lately they had happened to come across a Ragusian ship at Brindisi, but, as this ship had left Budua only a short time after Milenko himself had sailed, all the information the captain could give was rather stale. As for Vranic, nothing had been heard of him these many months.
Peric (the youth sailing with Milenko) heard, however, that the forebodings he had had concerning his brother were but too well founded; the poor boy had been killed while taking care of his father's horse. Still, the man who told him the news did not know, or had partly forgotten, all the details of the dreadful accident, for all he remembered was that the poor child had been brought home to his mother a mangled, bleeding corpse.
Milenko then seemed again to see the vision he had witnessed within the waters, and he could thus relate to the poor boy all the particulars of the tragic event.
Poor Peric cried bitterly, thinking of the poor boy he had been so fond of, and whom he would never see again; then, having somewhat recovered from his grief:
"It is very strange," said he, "that, on the very night on which you saw my brother dragged by the horse, I heard a voice whispering in my ear: 'Jurye is dead!' and then I fancied that the wind whistling in the rigging repeated: 'Jurye is dead!' and that same phrase was afterwards lisped by the rushing waters. Just then, to crown it all, I looked within the palm of my hand—why, I really do not know; but that, as you are aware, brings about the death of the person we love most. At that same moment a cold shivering came over me, and I felt sure that my poor brother was dead. All this is very strange, is it not?"
"Not so very strange, either," replied Milenko; "the saints allow us to have an inkling of what is to happen, so that when misfortune does come, we are not crushed by it."
"Oh! we all knew that one of our family would die during the year; only, as I was going to sea, I thought that I might be the one who——"
"How did you know?" asked Milenko.
"Because, when our grandmother died, her left eye remained open; and, although they tried to shut it, still, after a while, the lids parted again, and that, you well know, is a sure sign that someone of the house would follow her during the year."
The youth remained thoughtful for a little while, and then he added:
"I wonder how my poor mother is, now that she has lost both her sons."
"We shall soon have news from home, for, if the weather does not change, to-morrow we shall be in Trieste, where letters are surely awaiting us."
"Do you ever have voices whispering in your ears?" asked Peric.
"No, never; do you?"
"Very often, especially when I keep very still and try to think of nothing at all, just as if I were not my own self, but someone else."
"Try and see if you can hear a voice now."
The youth remained for some time perfectly still, looking as if he were going off into a trance; when he came to himself again:
"I did hear a voice," said he.
"What did it say?"
"That to-morrow you will meet the man you have been looking for."
"Nothing else?"
"Nothing."
"Is it not imagination?"
"Oh, no! besides, poets often hear the voice of the moon, who tells them all the stories they write in their books."
"Do they?" quoth Milenko, smiling.
"Yes; do you not know the story of 'The Snowdrop,' that Igo Kas heard whilst he was seated by a newly-dug grave?"
"No, I never heard it."
"Then I'll read it to you, if you like."
Milenko having nothing better to do, listened attentively to the youth's tale.