"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.