Many of the youthful inhabitants of Nona had come to see the sport, picking up some wounded bird bleeding to death in the fields; whilst many a countryman passing thereby, wearily trudging towards his home, his long-barrelled gun slung across his shoulder, shot down more than one stray coot that had taken refuge in a neighbouring field, hoping thereby to have escaped from the general slaughter.
At last, late in the afternoon, our sportsmen, heavily laden, followed Giulianic to his house, to finish there the day which they had so well begun.
Moreover, the men having risen so very early and being tired out, fell to dozing. Uros had gone to the ship to see how the repairs were getting on, and Milenko was thus left alone with Ivanika, or Ivanitza, as she was usually called. This was the opportunity he had eagerly wished for, to confess his love to her; nay, for two days he had rehearsed this scene over and over in his mind, and he had not only thought of all he would say to her, but even what she would answer.
Although he was said to be gifted with a vivid imagination, now that he was alone with her he could hardly find a word to say. It was, indeed, so much easier to woo in fancy than in reality.
How happy he would have been, walking in the garden with this beautiful girl, if he could only have got rid of his overpowering shyness. How many things he could have told her if he had only known how to begin; but every monosyllable he had uttered was said with trepidation, and in a hoarse and husky tone. Still, with every passing moment, he felt he was losing a precious opportunity he might never have again.
He did not know, however, that, if his lips were dumb, his eyes, beaming with love, spoke a passionate speech that words themselves were powerless to express. Nor was he aware that—though with maidenly coyness she turned her head away—she still read in his burning glances the love she longed to hear from his lips.
After a few commonplace phrases they walked on in silence, and then the same thoughts filled their hearts with almost unutterable anguish. In a few days the brig would be repaired, the sails unfurled, the anchor weighed; then the broad sea would separate them for ever.
The sun was just sinking beyond the waves, and the shivering waters looked like translucent gold; a mass of soft, misty clouds was glowing with saffron, orange and crimson hues, whilst the sky above was of a warm, roseate flush. Little by little all the tints faded, became duller, more delicate; the saffron changed into a pale-greyish lemon green, the crimson softened into pink. The sun's last rays having disappeared, the opaline clouds looked like wreaths of smoke or pearly-grey mists.
Milenko's heart felt all the changes that Nature underwent; his glowing love, though not less intent, was more subdued, and though, in his yearning, he longed to clasp this maiden in his arms, and to tell her that his life would be sadder than dusk itself without her love, still he felt too much and had not the courage to speak. Sometimes in the fulness of the heart the mouth remains mute.
Now the bell of a distant church began to ring slowly—the evening song, the dirge of the dying day. Ivanitza crossed herself devoutly; Milenko took off his cap, and likewise made the sign of the Cross. Both of them stopped; both breathed a short prayer, and then resumed their walk in silence.