"Yes," said the young man, in a whisper.
"A young girl?"
"No."
"A married woman?" asked the father, lifting his brows with a look of pain in his eyes.
"Yes."
"A relation of ours?"
"Yes."
"Milena?"
Uros nodded.
Just then, as they turned the corner of the road, they met a crowd of men coming towards them; it was a band of blood-stained Montenegrins returning from an encounter with the Turks. They were bearing a wounded man upon a stretcher.