Alas! why are we not like the bird that puts its head under its wing and banishes at once the outer world from its view. Every endeavour she made to bring about oblivion seemed, on the contrary, to stimulate her to wakefulness, and thereby frustrate her efforts. Sleepiness only brought on mental irritation, instead of soft, drowsy rest. The most gloomy thoughts came into her mind. Why had her husband not come to fetch her? Perhaps Vranic, seeing himself discovered, had stabbed him to death. Then she thought that, in this case, all her trouble would be at an end. Thereupon she crossed herself devoutly, and uttered a prayer that her husband might not be murdered, even if he had been cruel to her. Still, she was quite sure that, if Radonic ever discovered her guilt, he would surely murder her--burn her, perhaps, like Gjuro had done.
Thereupon she heard the elderly man's slow and grave voice ringing in her ears:
"Slavs never forgive. Adultery amongst us is no trifle, as it is in Venice."
She shuddered with terror. Every single word as it had been uttered had sunk deep into her breast, like drops of burning wax falling from Jeljena's gown. Each one was like the stab of a sharp knife cutting her to the quick.
Then again she fancied that Stoyan had sung that _pisma_ only to taunt her.
She had once heard the _pop_ read in the Bible about an adulteress in Jerusolim who was to be stoned to death.
Had not every word that evening been a stone thrust at her? What was she to do? What was to become of her? Once entangled in the net of sin, every effort we make to get out of it seems to make us flounder deeper in its fatal meshes.
All these thoughts tortured and harassed her, burning tears were ever trickling down her cheeks, her weary head was aching as she tossed about, unable to go off to sleep, unable to find rest; nay, a creepiness had come over all her limbs, as if a million ants were going up and down her legs.
How glad she was at last to see through the curtainless window the first glimmer of dawn dispel the darkness of the night--the long, dreary, unending night.
"You have had a bad night," said Mara. "I heard you turning and tossing about, but I thought it better not to speak to you. I suppose it was the bed. I'm like you, I always lose my sleep in a new bed."