The Pobratim Part 88

"Speak, man, speak!" said the Countess, sneeringly.

Another moan was heard; not from the Baron, but from behind one of the thick Arras portieres. Then it moved, and Anya appeared within the room. She advanced a few steps, stretched out her arms, just as if she were walking in the dark; then, at last, she sank senseless on the floor. The father ran to her, caught her up in his arms, pressed her to his heart, tried to bring her back from her fainting-fit, called her by the most endearing names; but, alas! she was already beyond hearing him.

"You have killed your daughter!" cried Aleksij, beside himself with grief.

"I?" said the Countess.

"Yes, and you have blasted my life!"

"Have you not blasted mine?" replied the Countess, laughing, and yet looking as scared as a ghost.

The Baron was moaning over his daughter's lifeless body.

"You are happy, my Anya; but what is to become of me?"

"Aleksij, rest can always be found within the waters of the Neva; its bed is as soft as down, whilst the breeze blowing in the sedges sings such a soft lullaby."

Orsinski looked up at his wife.

"I think you are right, Jadviga," said he.

"Oh! I know I am," replied the Countess, bursting into a loud, croaking, jarring fit of hysterical laughter. The Baron shuddered, but the Countess laughed louder and ever louder, until the lofty room resounded with that horrible, untimely merriment.

And now, if you pa.s.s by the dreary and deserted old Yarnova Castle, you will, perhaps, hear in the dead of the night those dreadful, discordant peals of laughter, whilst the belated peasant who pa.s.ses by crosses himself devoutly on hearing that sound of fiendish mirth.

The southerly wind which had accompanied the _Giustizia di Dio_ to Cape Salvore suddenly s.h.i.+fted, and a smacking northeasterly breeze began to blow. The whole of that night was a most stormy one; still, the s.h.i.+p bravely weathered the gale. At dawn the wind began to abate, still the sea was very heavy.

At about eight o'clock they perceived a s.h.i.+p, not only in distress, but sinking fast. Milenko at once gave orders to reef the topsails and tack about, so as to be able to approach the wreck, for the sea was by far too heavy to allow them to use their boats.

When they managed to get near enough to hear the shouts of the starving crew, they found out that the sinking s.h.i.+p was the _Ave Maria_, an Austrian barque. After much manoeuvring they got as close to the stern of the sinking s.h.i.+p as they possibly could. Ropes were then thrown across, so that the sailors might catch and tie them around their bodies and jump into the sea. The weakest were first helped to leap overboard, and then they were hauled into the _Giustizia di Dio_, where they received all the help their state required.

Five men were thus saved, and then the two s.h.i.+ps were driven apart by the gale. A scene of despair at once ensued on board the _Ave Maria_, which was sinking lower and lower. By dint of tacking about, the _Giustizia di Dio_ was once more brought by the side of the wreck, and then the captain and boatswain were saved; one of the men, who was drunk, when about to be tied, reeled back to the wine, which, apparently, was sweeter to him than life itself.

Milenko, who had remained at the helm, now came to the prow. It was just then that Vranic caught the rope that had been flung to him, and tied it round his waist. He stood on the stern and was about to leap into the foaming waves below. Milenko, who perceived him, uttered a loud cry, almost a raucous cry of joy, just as mews do as they pounce upon their prey.

"Vranic at last!" said he.

Vranic heard himself called; but, when he recognised his foe, it was too late to keep back--he had already sprung into the sea.

Milenko had s.n.a.t.c.hed the rope from the hands of the sailor who had thrown it. His first impulse was to cut the rope and leave his friend's murderer to the mercy of the waves.

Vranic, who had disappeared for an instant within the abyss of the waters, was seen again, struggling in the midst of the whirling foam.

He looked up, and saw one of the _pobratim_ holding the rope. Milenko remained for a moment undecided as to what he was to do.

"Let me help you to pull up," said the boatswain.

The young captain almost mechanically heaved up the rope, and was astonished to find it so light. The rope came home; evidently it had got undone, for Vranic was presently seen battling against the huge billows, trying to regain the sinking s.h.i.+p.

"What has happened?"

"Did the rope get loose?"

"Why did he not hold on?"

"Why does he not try to catch it?"

"Look, he is swimming back towards the wreck."

"He must have cut the rope."

These were the many exclamations of the astonished sailors.

"Thank Heaven, he is guilty of his own blood," replied Milenko, "for this is, after all, the justice of G.o.d."

In fact, as soon as Vranic saw that it was Milenko himself who was holding the rope that was tied round his waist, he pulled out the black dagger that he always carried about him, and freed himself; then he turned round and began to swim back towards the _Ave Maria_.

At the same time, a big wave came rolling over him; it uplifted and dashed him against the sharp icicles hanging from the wrecked s.h.i.+p, and which looked so many _chevaux de frise_. He tried to catch hold, to cling to the frozen ropes, but they slipped from his grasp, and the retreating surges carried him off and he disappeared for ever.

The two vessels were parted once more, and Milenko, perceiving that it was useless to remain there any longer and try and save the three drunken sailors who had remained on board, thought it far more advisable to proceed on to Trieste and send them help from there.

When the _Giustizia di Dio_ reached Trieste, the storm had abated, the wind had gone down, and the sea was almost calm. Help was at once sent to the s.h.i.+pwrecked vessel, but, alas! all that could be seen of the _Ave Maria_ was the utmost tops of her masts.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WEDDING

Milenko had been most lucky in his voyages, and had reaped a golden harvest. As steamers had not yet come into any practical use, and the Adriatic trade was still a most prosperous one, s.h.i.+p-owners and captains had a good time of it. In fact, his share of the profits was such as to enable him to buy the s.h.i.+p on his own account. Still, now that the _karvarina_ business was settled and Uros' death was avenged, he did not care any more for a seafaring life; and, moreover, his heart was at Nona with the girl he loved.

The time he had been away had seemed to him everlastingly long, and, besides, he had been all these months without any news from his family. He was, therefore, overjoyed upon reaching Trieste to find a whole packet awaiting him.

The very first letter that caught his sight was one in a handwriting which, although familiar, he could not recognise. Could it be from Ivanka? Now that they were engaged, she, perhaps, had written to him; still, it hardly seemed probable. Perhaps it was from Giulianic, for, indeed, it was more of a man's than a woman's handwriting. Looking at it closer, he thought, with a sigh, that if poor Uros were alive, he would surely believe it came from him. At last he tore the letter open. It began:

"_Ljubi moj brati._"

"Can it be possible," said Milenko to himself, "that Uros is still alive?"

He gave a glance at the signature; there was no more doubt about it, the writer was Uros himself. In his joy, he pressed the letter to his lips; then he ran over its contents, which were as follows:

"MY BELOVED BROTHER,--You will, doubtless, be very much surprised to get this letter from me, as I do not think anybody has, as yet, written to you; nor is it likely that you have met anyone from Budua giving you our news. Therefore, as I think you believe me in my coffin, it will be just like receiving a letter from beyond the grave. Anyhow, if I am still alive, it is to you, my dear Milenko, that I owe my life, nay, more than my life, my happiness.

"The day you went away I remained for several hours in a fainting-fit, just like a dead man. My heart had ceased to beat, my limbs had grown stiff and cold; in fact, they say I was exactly like a corpse. I think that, for a little while, I even lost the use of all my senses. At last, when I came to myself, I could neither feel, nor speak, nor move; I could only hear. I lived, as it were, rather out of my body than within it. I heard weeping and wailing, and the prayers for the dead were being said over me. My mother and Milena were kissing my face and hands, and their tears trickled down on my cold lips and eyelids. It was a moment of bitter anguish and maddening terror. Should I lie stiff and stark, like a corpse, and allow myself to be buried? The idea was so dreadful that it quite paralysed me. I again, for a little while, lost all consciousness.

Little by little I recovered my senses; I could even open my eyes; I uttered a few faint words. In fact, I was alive. From that moment I began to recover my strength. In less than a fortnight I was able to rise from my bed. From that day my mother's visits not only were shorter, but Milena ceased to come. They told me that the monks had objected to her presence. I was afraid this was an excuse, and, in fact, I soon found out that she had been at the point of death, and, as she was at our house now, my mother was taking care of her. Her illness protracted my own, and my strength seemed once more to pa.s.s away. But Milena returned to me, and soon afterwards I was able to leave the convent.

"Can I describe my happiness to you, friend of my heart? You yourself will shortly be married to the girl you are fond of, and then you will know all the bliss of loving and being loved.