"Perhaps you will be angry with me, and think me inconstant, but alas! this is not the case. Henceforth, I must never think of you, or at least, only as a friend. It is not fated that we be man and wife, and, as marriages are made in heaven, we must submit to what has been decreed.
"You must not think me heartless if I write to you in this way, but the fact is, my father had—even before my birth—promised me in marriage to the son of one of his friends, and this young man happens to be your own friend and brother Uros. My only hope now is, that he, as you hinted, being in love with someone else, will not insist upon marrying me, or else I shall be the most wretched woman that ever lived in this world.
"My father, who is delighted with the marriage, for he has always mistaken you for Uros, has already written to his old friend Bellacic to remind him of his plighted word. Perhaps your friend will get his father to write to mine, and explain the real state of things to him; if not, I shall dearly regret the day you saved me from certain death.
"But why do I write all this to you. Perhaps, as the saying is: 'Far from the eyes, far from the heart.' You have already forgotten the wretched girl who owes her life to you, and must therefore love, cherish, and ever be your most obedient servant, "IVANKA."
As poor Milenko read this letter, his cheeks grew pale, his heart seemed to stop, he almost gasped for breath. He looked around; the sky seemed to have grown dark, the world dreary, life a burden. Could it be possible that, when the cup of happiness had touched his lips, it would be snatched away from him and dashed down?
The letter which he had read seemed to have muddled his brain. Was it possible that the girl he loved so dearly was to marry his friend, who did not care about her? and if she loved him, would she yield tamely to her father's wish? Alas! what proper girl ever rebelled against her father's decree?
Milenko felt as if a hand of steel had been thrust within his breast, gripped his heart and crushed it.
All at once he was seized by a dreadful doubt. Did Uros know nothing about all this, or was he conniving with his father to rob him of his bride? He looked up at his friend, who was reading the letters he had just received. The tidings they contained must have been far worse than his own, for Uros' face was the very picture of despair.
"What is the matter?" said Milenko; "bad news from home?"
For all answer Uros handed the letter he had just been reading to his friend; it was as follows:—