The Pobratim Part 39

Hus.h.!.+ was there not a noise somewhere? It must have been outside; and still it seemed to him as if it were in the house itself. Was it a mouse, or some stray cat that had come in unperceived? No; it was a continuous noise, like the trailing of some huge snake on the dry gra.s.s.

A quarter to ten!

Silence once more. Now, almost all the town is fast asleep. He would wait a little longer, and then? Well, if Vranic did not come soon, he would not come at all, so it would be useless waiting. He wrapped himself up in his great-coat, for the night was chilly, and had it not been for the thought that Milena had fled with Vranic, sleepiness would have overcome him.

He thoughtlessly began making a cigarette, out of mere habit, just to do something. It was provoking not to smoke just when a few puffs would be such a comfort.

Now he again hears the chimes at a distance; the deep-toned bell rings the four quarters slowly; the vibrations of one stroke have hardly pa.s.sed away when the quiet air is startled by another stroke.

How much louder and graver those musical notes sound in the hushed stillness of the night!

Ten o'clock!

Some towns--Venice, for instance--were all life and bustle at that hour of the night; the streets and squares all thronged with masks and merry revellers; the theatres, coffee-houses, dancing-rooms, were blazing with light, teeming with life, echoing with music and merriment. Budua is, instead, as dark, as lonesome, and as silent as a city of the dead. The whole town is now fast asleep.

"It is useless to wait any longer," mutters Radonic to himself; "n.o.body is coming."

The thought that his wife had fled with Vranic has almost become a certainty. Jealousy is torturing him. He feels like gripping his throat and choking himself, or das.h.i.+ng his head to pieces against the stone wall. If his house had been in town, near the others, Vranic might have waited till after ten o'clock; but, situated where it was, no prying neighbours were to be feared. Something had, perhaps, detained him. Still, what can detain a man when he has such an object in view?

Muttering an oath between his teeth, Radonic stood up.

"Hus.h.!.+ What was that?" He listened.

Nothing, or only one of the many unexplainable noises heard in the stillness of the night.

Perhaps, after all, Vranic had been on the watch the whole day, and then he had seen him return. Perhaps--though he had never believed in his friend's gift of second sight--Vranic was indeed a seer, and could read within the minds of men. Perhaps, having still some doubts, he would only come on the morrow. Anyhow, he would go to bed and abide his time. He stretched his anchylosed limbs and yawned.

Now he was certain he heard a noise outside.

He stood still. It was like the sound of steps at a distance. He listened again. This time he was not mistaken, though, indeed, it was a very low sound. Stealthy steps on the s.h.i.+ngle. He went on tiptoe to the door. The sound of the steps was more distinct at every pace.

Moreover, every now and then, a stone would turn, or creak, or strike against another, and thus betray the m.u.f.fled sound of the person who walked.

Radonic listened breathlessly.

Perhaps, after all, it was only Milena coming back home. He peeped out, but he could not see anything. Was his hearing quicker than his sight?

He strained his eyes and then he saw a dark shadow moving among the bushes, but even then he could only distinguish it because his eyes were rendered keener by following the direction pointed out by his ears.

Was it Vranic, he asked himself.

Aye, surely; who else could it be but Vranic?

Still, what was he afraid of? No human eye could see him, no ear detect his steps.

Are we not all afraid of the crime we are about to commit? There is in felony a ghastly shadow that either precedes or follows us. It frightens even the most fearless man.

Slowly the shadow emerged from within the darkness of the bushes and came up towards the house. It was Vranic's figure, his shuffling gait.

Radonic's breast was like unto a glowing furnace, the blood within his heart was bubbling like molten metal within a crucible.

In a moment, that man--who was coming to seduce his wife and dishonour him--would be within his clutches.

Then he would break every bone within his body. He seemed to hear the s.h.i.+vering they made as he shattered them into splinters, and he shuddered.

For a moment, the atrocity of the crime he was about to commit, daunted him.

Still, almost at the same time, he asked himself whether he were going to turn coward at the last moment.

Was he not doing an act of equity? How heinously had not this fiend dealt by him! He had put him up against his wife, until, baited, she was almost driven to adultery. No, the justice of G.o.d and man would absolve him; if not--well, he had rather be hanged, and put his soul in jeopardy, than forego his vengeance. He was a Slav.

All these thoughts flitted through his brain in an instant, like flashes of lightning following one another on a stormy night.

Radonic watched the approaching shadow, from the cranny of the door ajar, with a beating heart.

Before Vranic came to the doorstep, he stopped. He looked round on one side, then on the other; after that he cast a glance all around.

He bent his head forward to try and pierce the darkness that surrounded him. Was he seeing ghosts? Then he seemed to be listening.

At last, convinced that he was alone, he again walked on. Now he was by the door, almost on the sill, within reach of Radonic's grasp. He stopped again.

Radonic clasped his knife; he might have flung the door open, and despatched him with a single blow. No, that would have been stupid.

It was better by far to let him come in, like a mouse into a trap, and there be caught with his own bait. Yes, he would make the most of his revenge, spit upon him, torture him.

Slowly and noiselessly he glided back into a corner behind the door.

Some everlasting seconds pa.s.sed. He waited breathlessly, for his heart was beating so loud that he could only gasp.

Had Vranic repented at the last instant? Had he gone back? Was he still standing on the doorstep, waiting and watching? At last he moved--he came up to the door--he slowly pushed it open; then again he stopped. The darkness within was blacker than the darkness without.

"_Sst, pst!_" he hissed, like a snake. Then he waited.

He came a step onward; then, in an undertone: "Milena, Milena, where are you?"

Again he waited.

"Milena," he whispered; and again, louder: "Milena, are you here?"

He stretched forth his hands, and groped his way in. Radonic could just distinguish him.

"Milena, my love, it is I, Vranic."

Those few words were like a sharp stab to Radonic. He made a superhuman effort not to move; for he wanted to see what the rascal would do next.

"Perhaps she has fallen asleep, or else has gone to bed," he muttered to himself.

He again advanced a few steps, always feeling his way. Evidently, he was going towards the next room; for he knew the house well. All at once, he stumbled against a stool. He was frightened; he thought someone had clutched him by the legs. He recovered, and shut the door behind him. It was a fatal step; for otherwise he might, perhaps, have managed to escape.

How easy it would now have been for Radonic to pounce upon him and dash his brains out; but he wanted to follow the drama out to its end, and now the last scene was at hand.

Vranic, having shut the door, remained quiet for some time. He fumbled in his pockets, took out his steel and flint, then struck a light. At the first spark he might have seen Radonic crouching a few steps from him, but he was too busy lighting the bit of candle he had brought with him. When his taper shed its faint glimmer, then he looked round, and, to his horror, he saw the figure of a man, with glistening eyes, and a dagger in his hand, standing not far from him.

At first he did not recognise his friend, with shaven beard and in his new attire; still, he did not require more than a second glance to know who it was.

Terror at once overpowered him; he uttered a low, stifled cry.