think. Look there! the fairies have seen you, and they are beckoning you to go to them."

"But, then, tell me first what I am."

"You are a foundling; the old man and woman with whom you lived were not your parents. They stole you when you were an infant for your beauty and the rich clothes you wore."

"And you, who are you, gospod?"

"I?" said the young man, laughing. "I am Macic, the merry, the mischievous sprite. I have known you since a long time. I loved you from the first moment I saw you, and I always hoped that, 'as like matches with like,' you yourself might perhaps some day get to like me and marry me. Tell me, was I right?" said he, looking at her mischievously.

Jella told him he was a saucy fellow to speak so lightly about such a grave subject, but then—woman-like—she added that he was not wrong.

They were forthwith welcomed by the Vile with much glee, and, soon afterwards, their wedding was celebrated with great pomp and merriment.

"But what became of the old man and his wife?" asked an interested listener.

"They met with the punishment their curiosity deserved. They were found a long time afterwards locked up in an old disused burying-ground. They were both of them quite dead, for when they fainted at the terrible sights they saw, the vampires availed themselves of their helplessness to suck up the little blood there was in them."

"May St. John preserve us all from such a fate," said Milos Bellacic, crossing himself devoutly.

The story having come to an end, toasts were drunk, songs were sung to the accompaniment of the guzla, the young people flirted, their elders talked gravely about politics and the crops, whilst the women huddled together in a corner and chatted about household matters.

After a while, an old ladle having been brought out, lead was melted and then thrown into a bucket of water, and the fanciful arborescent silvery mass it formed was used as a means of divination.

Most of the girls were clever in reading those molten hieroglyphics, but none was so versed in occult lore as an old woman, an aunt of the Starescina's, who was also skilled in the art of curing with simples.

Uros and Milenko, therefore, begged the good old woman to foretell them their future; and she, looking at the glittering maze, said to them:

"See here, these two are the paths of your life; see how smoothly they run, how they meet with the same incidents. These little needles that rise almost at marked distances are the milestones of the road; each one is a year. Count them, and you will see that for a length of time nothing ruffles the course of your life. But here a catastrophe, then both paths branch out in different directions; your lives from then have separate ends." The two young men heaved a deep sigh.

"Anyhow, you have several years of happiness in store for you. Make good use of your time while it is yours, for time is fleeting."

Then, as she was rather given to speak in proverbs, she said to Uros:

"Let your friend be to you even as a brother. Remember that one day, not very far off either, you will owe your life to him."

Drinking and carousing, singing and chatting, the evening came to an end. In the early hours the guests took leave of their host, wishing him a long and happy life, firing their pistols, not only as a compliment to him, but also as a means of scaring away the evil spirits. Upon reaching their houses, they bathed and washed with dew, they rubbed themselves with virgin oil, so as to be strong and healthy, besides being proof against witchcraft, for a whole year.

CHAPTER II

THE BOND OF FRIENDSHIP

"Milenko," said Uros, "have you the least idea how people that are in love feel?"

Milenko arched his eyebrows and smiled.

"No, not exactly, for I've never been spoony myself." Then, after pondering for a moment, he added: "I should think it's like being slightly sea-sick; don't you?"

Uros looked amused. He thought over the simile for a while, then said:

"Well, perhaps you are not quite wrong."

"But why do you ask? You are surely not in love, are you?"

Uros sighed. "Well, that's what I don't exactly know; only I feel just a trifle squeamish. I'm upset; my head is muddled."

"And you are afraid it's love?"

Uros made a sign of assent.

"It's not nice, is it?"

"No."

"And you'd like to get out of it?" asked Milenko.

"Yes."

"Well, then, take a deep plunge. Make love to her heart and soul, as if you were going to marry her to-morrow. Then, I daresay, you'll soon get over it. You see, the worst thing with sea-sickness is to mope, to nurse yourself, and fancy every now and then that you are going to throw up. It's better to be sick like a dog for a day or two, as we were, and then it's all over. I think it must be the same thing with love."

"I daresay you are right, but——"

"But what?"

"I can't follow your advice."

"Why not?"

"Because—because——" and thereupon he began to scratch his head. "I can't make love to her."

"Can't make love to a girl?"

"No; for, you see, she's not a girl."

Milenko opened his eyes and stared.

"Who is she?" he asked.

Uros looked gloomy. He hesitated for an instant; then he whispered:

"Milena!"

Milenko started back.

"Not Milena Radonic?"

Uros nodded gravely.

"You are right," said Milenko seriously; "you can't make love to a married woman. It's a crime, first of all; then you might get her into trouble, and find yourself some day or other in a mess."

"You are right."

The two friends were silent for a moment; then Milenko, thinking to have caught the dilemma by its horns, said:

"Wouldn't it be the same thing if you made love to some other pretty damsel?"

Uros shook his head doubtfully.

"Darinka, our neighbour Ivo's daughter, is a very nice girl."

"Very."

"Well, don't you think you might fall in love with her?" asked
Milenko, coaxingly.

"No, I don't think I could."

"Then there is Liepa, for instance; she is as lovely as her name; moreover, I think she looks a little like Milena."

"No; no woman has such beautiful eyes. Why, the first time I saw Milena, I felt her glances scorching me; they sank into my flesh," and he heaved a deep sigh.

There was another pause; both the friends were musing.

"Well, then, I'll tell you what," said Milenko, after a while; "we'll just go off to sea again. It's a pity, but it can't be helped."

"And the harvest?"

"They'll have to manage without us; that's all."

After having discussed the subject over and over again, it was agreed that they were to sail as soon as they could find a decent vessel that could take them both. In the meanwhile, Uros promised to avoid Milena as much as possible, which was, indeed, no easy matter.

The day of Milena Zwillievic's marriage had, indeed, been a Black Friday to her. First, she knew