"Frana, if ever you love a man as I love Uros, you will see that you will care very little for your own life, and still less for what people might say about you."
Frana helped Milena to go to bed again. She made her take a cup of broth, with the yolk of an egg beaten into it; placed, on a chair by her bed, a bowl of mulled wine, which she was to take so as to get up her strength; put away the long locks of hair lying on the table, and at last she went off.
Presently, Milenko's mother came to see Milena, and stayed with her till Frana returned, and then she was persuaded to go back home. When she had gone, Frana undid the bundle she had brought, took out a jacket, a pair of wide breeches and leggings, the opanke; lastly, the small black cap with its gold-embroidered crimson crown.
Frana helped Milena to dress, and, in her weak state, the operation almost exhausted her. The broad sash, tightly wound round her waist, served to keep her up, and, leaning on Frana's arm, she left the house.
"I have managed to find a cart for you, so we need not cross the town, but go round the walls, in order that you may not be seen; besides, the cart will take us to the foot of the mountain, not far from the convent."
"How shall I ever be able to thank you enough for what you have done for me, Frana?"
"By getting over your illness as quickly as possible, for if any harm should come of it my mother 'll never forgive me, and I don't blame her."
The sun was in the meridian when the cart arrived at the foot of the mountain and the two friends alighted. As they climbed the rough and uneven path leading up to the convent, Milena, though leaning on Frana's strong arm, had more than once to stop and rest, for at every step she made the pain in every joint, in every muscle, was most acute. It seemed as if all the ligaments that bind the bones of the skeleton together had snapped asunder, and that her body was about to fall to pieces. Then she felt a smarting, a fire that was burning within her bowels, and which increased at every effort she made; in fact, had it not been for the young girl, she would either have sunk by the roadside or crawled up—as she had said herself—on all-fours.
Her head also was aching dreadfully, her temples were throbbing, and she was parched with fever. Her limbs sank every now and then beneath her weight; still, her love and her courage kept her up, and she trudged along without uttering a word of complaint. At last they reached the convent. Then her strength gave way. Anxiety, pain and shame overpowered her, and she fell fainting on the threshold. Frana summoned help; but, before the monks came, Milena had recovered, and was sitting down on a bench to rest.
In the meanwhile Uros was lingering on—a kind of death in life; the vital flame was flickering, but not entirely extinguished; the ties that fastened the soul to life were still strong. Towards midnight he had sat up in his bed, and—as the monks thought—the Virgin and Christ had appeared to him, then he had, for some time, not given any further signs of consciousness. Nay, the monks were so sure the sufferer was passing away, that they, in fact, began reciting the prayers for the dying. They did so with much fervour, regarding Uros almost as a saint, for never had mortal man been so highly favoured by the Deity. Little by little, however, life, instead of ebbing away, seemed to return; but the sufferer's mind was quite lost.