Some of the sailors managed to climb up the other ship; most of the crew clung to the timber with which the ship was laden. Milenko remained on the sinking wreck until dawn.
The other ship—an Italian schooner—cruised about, and tried to remain as much as she possibly could on the same spot, till early in the morning, so as to pick up all the men of the wreck. Three of the crew, however, must have been washed away, for they were not seen anywhere, or ever afterwards heard of.
The schooner, that had been also considerably damaged, sailed to Trieste as well as she could. Fortunately for Milenko, the Spera in Dio had been insured for more than her value, and happening to find another ship for sale, the Giustizia di Dio, he bought it, and, on the whole, made a very good bargain. He soon got another cargo for Naples, and, a month after his return, he once more sailed in search of Vranic.
CHAPTER XXI
FLIGHT
Vranic, having stabbed Uros, remained for a moment rooted to the spot where he stood. When he saw the red blood gush out of the wound and dye the white shirt, he stared at the young man bewildered; he could hardly understand what he had done. A strange feeling came over him. He almost fancied he was awaking from a horrid dream, and that he was witnessing a deed done, not by himself, but by some person quite unknown to him. When he saw Uros put his hand up to the wound, then stagger, he was about to help him; but Milenko having appeared, he shuddered, came to his senses and ran off.
Vranic had always been cursed with a morbidly discontented disposition, as peevish and as fretful as a porcupine. Although he was superstitiously religious, and strictly kept all feasts and fasts, still, at the same time, he felt a grudge—almost a hatred —against God, who had made him so unlike other men; who, far from granting him the boon of health to which he felt he had a right, had stamped him with an indelible sign so that all might keep aloof from him. He envied all the men he knew, for they laughed and were merry, when he himself was as gloomy as a lonely spider in its dusty old web. Still, as he vented the little energy that was in him in secret rancour, he would never have harmed anybody. He had, it was true, cut down Bellacic's vines, but had done so instigated by his friends, or rather, by Bellacic's enemies. If he had stabbed Uros, it was really done in a moment of madness, driven almost to despair by many sleepless nights, by the shame and pain caused by the loss of his ear.
Having done that dreadful deed, he understood that the Convent of St. George was no shelter for him. Besides, seeing Uros fall lifeless, his first impulse was flight. It mattered little whither he went. It was only after a short time when, breathless and faint, he stumbled against a stone and fell, that the thought of finding some hiding-place came into his head.
He lurked amongst the rocks the whole of that day, terrified at the slightest noise he heard, trembling with fear if a bird flew beside him, startled at his own shadow. At times he almost fancied the stones had eyes and were looking at him, and that weird, uncouth shapes moved in the bushes below.
He was not hungry, but his lips were parched, his mouth felt clammy with thirst; still, there was not a drop of water to be had, nothing but the hot sun from the sky above, and the glow of the scorching stones from below.