A few days afterwards Bellacic went to visit one of his vineyards. This, of all his land, was his pride and his boast. He had, besides, spent much money on it, for all the vines had been brought from Asia Minor, and the grapes were of a quality far superior to those which grew all around. The present crop was already promising to be a very fair one.
On reaching the first vines, Bellacic was surprised to perceive that all the leaves were limp, withering or dry. The next vines were even in a worse condition. He walked on, and, to his horror, he perceived that the whole of his vineyard was seared and blasted, as if warm summer had all at once changed into cold, bleak, frosty winter. Every stem had been cut down to the very roots. Gloomy and disconsolate he walked about, with head bent down, kicking every vine as he went on; all, all were fit for firewood now. It was not only a heavy loss of money, it was something worse. All his hopes, his pride, seemed to be crushed, humbled by it. He had loved this vineyard almost as much as his wife or his son, and now it was obliterated from the surface of the earth.
Had it been the work of Nature or the will of God, he would have bowed his head humbly, and said: "Thy will be done"; but he was exasperated to think that this had all been the work of a man—the vengeance of a coward—a craven-hearted rascal that, after all, he had never harmed, for this could be only Vranic's doing. In his passion he felt that if he had held the dastard at that moment, he would have crushed him under his feet like a reptile.
As Bellacic slowly arrived at the other end of the vineyard, he felt that just then he could not retrace his steps and cross the whole of his withering vines once more. He stopped there for a few moments, and looked around; then it seemed to him as if he had seen a man crouch down and disappear behind the bushes.
Could it be Vranic coming to gloat over him and enjoy his revenge? or was it not an image of his over-heated imagination?
He stood stock-still for a while, but nothing moved. He went slowly on, and then he heard a slight rustling noise. He advanced, crouching like a cat or a tiger, with fixed, dilated eyes and pricked-up ears. He saw the bushes move, he heard the sound of footsteps; then he saw the figure of a man bending low and running almost on all fours, so as not to be seen.
It was Vranic; now he could be clearly recognised. Bellacic ran after him; Vranic ran still faster. All at once he caught his foot on a root that had shot through the earth; he stumbled and fell down heavily. As he rose, Bellacic came up to him.
"Villain, scoundrel, murderer! is it you who——? Yes, it could be no other dog than you! Moreover, you wanted to see how they looked."
"What?" said Vranic, ghastly pale, trembling from head to foot.
"What?—I really don't know what you mean."
"Do you say that you haven't cut down my vines?"