Night came on; the fishermen lighted their resinous torches on the prows of the boats, and the fish, attracted by the sheen, which reflected itself down in the deep, dark water, were lured within the double net spread out to catch them.
When the shoal began to follow the deceptive light, the quiet waters were struck with mighty, resounding thuds, and the terror-stricken sardines swam hither and thither, helter-skelter, entangling themselves within the meshes of that wall of netting spread out to capture them.
Thus the whole of that balmy summer night was passed in decoying and frightening the shoal, in gathering it together, then in driving it into the inlet where the nets were spread.
At last, at early dawn, the long-awaited moment came. Every fisherman, dumb with expectation, grasped the ropes of the net and tugged with lusty sinews and a rare good-will. For the father, the sustenance of his children at home lay in those nets; for the lover, the produce of that first night's fishery would enable him to say whether he could wed the girl he loves that year, or if the marriage would have to be postponed till more propitious times.
The strong men groaned under the weight they were heaving, but not a word was spoken. Finally, the dripping nets were uplifted out of the water. It was a rare sight to see the fish glistening like a mass of molten silver within the brown meshes, just when the first hyacinthine beams of the dawning sun fell upon their glossy, nacreous scales.
The captain and his two mates, the pobratim, rowed on shore and took part in the general rejoicings, for nothing gladdens the heart of man as abundance; moreover, they made a very good stroke of business, for, having ready-money, they bought up, and thus secured, part of their cargo for their return voyage.
On the morrow, a fresh and steady breeze having begun to blow, the lazy sails swelled out, the ship flew on the rippling waters, like a white swan, and that very evening they dropped the anchor at Gravosa, the port of Ragusa.
How often the letter we have been so anxiously expecting only comes to disappoint us, making us feel our sorrow more deeply.
As soon as the post-office was opened, the pobratim hurried there to ask for letters. They both received several from their parents. Uros read, with a sinking heart, what we already know, that Radonic had killed Vranic, and that Milena was dangerously ill. Milenko received a letter in a handwriting new to him. With a trembling hand he tore open the envelope, unfolded the sheet of pale blue Bath paper, containing an ounce of gold dust in it, and read the following lines:—
"Honoured Sir,—I take up my pen to keep the promise I so imprudently made of writing to you, but this, which is the first, must also be the last letter I ever pen.