CHAPTER I

RAGNA

A Novel

by

MADAME ANNA COSTANTINI

New York

Sturgis & Walton

Company

1910

All rights reserved

Copyright 1910

By Sturgis & Walton Company

Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1910

RAGNA

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

We see her first, a tall child with wind-blown hair standing on the

rocky point of a barren promontory where fjord and ocean meet, wild as

the sea-birds that circle about her head--indeed at this time wildness

was the keynote of her nature. The household tasks and lessons disposed

of, she spent the rest of the day in rambles over the rugged country

side, or in exploits that kept the older members of the family in

breathless suspense. It was she who mounted bareback the unbroken horses

in the pasture, she who sailed her boat down the foaming fjord in the

teeth of the storm. Danger heightened her enjoyment, and true descendant

of the vikings of old, she looked her best, lithe and straight,

breasting the gale, the joy of the struggle gleaming in her sea-blue

eyes, flushing her cheeks, her long golden hair flung out on the wind

like a triumphal banner.

Her home was a long, low, timber house, sheltering amid pines and firs,

under the lee of a high rocky hill, a home built for the long northern

winters, the long months when the country lay snow-bound. The winter

afternoons and evenings were spent in sewing or embroidery, when the

father or the mother read aloud, or grandmother told tales of the Old

Times, and of the family. The favourite was that of brave young Uncle

Olaf, who had sailed to the frozen North in his whaler, never to return.

Grandmother always wept at the end of this tale, and father would wipe

his spectacles and gaze intently into the fire, but to the children it

was a splendid myth, and on clear days they would climb to the bare

headland to the north of the house, and stand looking out to sea,

watching for Uncle Olaf with his ship, bringing home treasure untold.

To Ragna especially, Uncle Olaf was an embodiment of the spirit of

adventure and of the sea; he became in her imagination a sort of "Flying

Dutchman," doomed to sail forever and ever the Northern Seas, passing

the fjord and his old home in the whirling storm, doomed never to bring

his ship into port, never to rest in the haven where he fain would be.

She loved him, the tall, beautiful young sailor, with the waving fair

hair and deep-set blue eyes, and she imagined him amongst his

grey-bearded seamen,--they would grow old, but he, never. Some days when

she took her boat out in the open water, beyond the sheltering fjord,

she would imagine that far away against the dark horizon, against the

gathering storm-clouds, she saw the phantom vessel, flying before the

wind, all sails set, half veiled in the blowing scud. Her two sisters

would talk of when Uncle Olaf should come home, of the riches he would

bring, and the wonderful tales of adventure in far countries he would

tell, but only Ragna knew that he would never come, that his mysterious

doom was to sail on and on till the Judgment Day, longing for peace and

home, family and joy, but never to find them; seeing his comrades grow

old and grey, and die--but himself, always young, always stretching

longing arms toward the happiness and rest he might never attain to--and

so on and on for ever, till the end of the world.

Ragna, as you may see, was impulsive and visionary, and while her

sisters both became capable little housewives, she took but little

interest in homely duties. Eagerly she read whatever fell in her way,

but especially she loved the old Sagas, with their great fierce women,

and strong, terribly human men. She heard the call of the Valkyries in

the wind, saw their shapes in the battling clouds; the Aurora Borealis

to her, lighted the feasting of heroes in Valhalla. Naturally, she wrote

verses herself, but in secret, hiding her copy-book deep in her clothes

press. There her sister Lotte found it one fateful day, and produced it,

in a fit of childish mischief, after supper in the family circle. Poor

Ragna, all confusion and blushes, fearing the inevitable reprimand for

foolish waste of time, tried to snatch her darling, but the father held

up his hand.

"Give that book to me, Lotte," he said, and when she had complied, he

locked it up in his desk, and nothing further was said.

A week passed, and still Ragna trembled for the fate of her treasure,

but dared not inquire. She stood in awe of her father, and would as soon

have bearded a lion in his den, as question him. When he finally

summoned her to his study, and bade her close the door behind her, she

entered timidly, not daring to look him in the face. If he was secretly

amused by her air of conscious guilt, he gave no sign.

"My daughter," he said, in calm judicial tones, "your mother and I have

read the writings in the little book, the good grandmother also has seen

them. It is all nonsense, of course--what could a child like you write

but nonsense? But it is not such bad nonsense, after all," he added

kindly. Then he bade her sit by him, and she fetched a low stool, and

sat by his knee--up to now she had been standing as a dutiful child

should.

He laid his hand on her shining plaits of hair, and bent her head back

so that he might look into her eyes.

"True eyes," he said dreamily, half to himself, "Andersen eyes, and you

have the Andersen face, child. Lotte is of your mother's race, but

Ingeborg and you are Andersens through and through--and you look like

your Uncle Olaf." He paused awhile, apparently immersed in thought.

Ragna burned with excitement and curiosity, what could it mean? What

could he be going to say? Her head moved under his hand, and recalled to

him the fact of her presence.

"Ragna, your mother and I have decided that you must go away; you must

go to a school where you can learn more than is possible here. Fru

Bjork, a relative of your mother's, is taking her daughter to a convent

in Paris, and I have written to her asking her to take you also, and to

place you in the convent with Astrid. You are sixteen--two years in

Paris will do more for you than a lifetime here. The mother and I shall

miss you--but an Andersen must have the best, and I believe I can trust

you to make the most of this opportunity. Now, my child, I have said

what I had in my mind, there is nothing more, only this: remember always

that an Andersen must have the best and be worthy of it!"

Ragna had listened to him, her colour coming and going, her eyes

shining. Two years in Paris! It was too wonderful almost to be believed.

She rose from her stool, and made motion to kiss her father's hand, as

was her custom, but he took her into his arms, and kissed her forehead.

"You are too old now to kiss my hand," he said smiling. She flung her

arms about his neck and clung to him, sobbing with excitement and joy,

till her father loosed her arms and putting her copy-book into her hand,

led to the door saying:

"There, there! Control yourself my dear, recollect that you are almost a

woman now!" And he closed the door behind her.

CHAPTER II

The next few weeks passed as in a dream, and at length the day of

departure came. Ragna set off with her father in the stulkjarre, her

modest box well corded and tied on behind. Grandmother, mother and

sisters, even the old nurse, waving a tearful farewell, disappeared

behind the clustering trees.

Travel in those days was not the easy affair it is now, and three days

posting lay between the travellers and Molde. They were to meet Fru

Bjork at Bergen. When, in due time they arrived, Ragna found her

chaperone to be a matronly woman, arrayed in brown silk with a heavy

gold chain round her neck; her crab's eyes looked good-naturedly out on

the world, and her ample curves bore witness to her naturally placid

temperament--relieved, however, by a surface fussiness. She at once took

Ragna to her arms and heart with such pattings and caressings as made

the girl feel quite uncomfortable, unused as she was to such a

demonstrative show of affection.

Astrid, the daughter, fair and pretty, sprightly and capricious of

character, also welcomed the newcomer with enthusiasm.

"How delightful it will be!" she carolled. "We shall be just like

sisters, and tell one another all our secrets--shan't we, dear?" She

linked her arm in Ragna's, and gazed soulfully into her face. Ragna

could not help wondering what secrets she might ever find it possible to

confide to such a little linnet. At first awkward and constrained, she

soon thawed, however, in the friendly atmosphere, and in a few minutes

was chattering away with a gaiety and freedom, quite surprising to her

father, who had always known her timidly reserved. This was not to be

wondered at, as he had never encouraged any other attitude in his

children.

As this is not to be a chronicle of a young lady's school-days, little

need be told concerning the journey to Paris, and the years at the Sacré

Coeur, suffice it to say that Ragna, under the care of the good

Sisters, improved both in mind and body. As her skin lost its coating of

sunburn and tan, and her body its abrupt and boyish movements, so her

mind, trained in the study of the French classics, took on polish, and

she acquired a nice discrimination of taste, and a distinction of manner

rarely met with in so young a girl. So much for externals, at heart she

was the same old Ragna, impulsive, dreamy, and of a childlike credulity,

splendidly loyal to those she loved. One instance of this will suffice.

Astrid, in whom vanity and the indulgence of her mother had developed a

thirst for admiration and romance, soon found the monotonous round of

convent life unbearably dull. She confided the yearnings of her lonely

heart to her bosom friend Ragna, and for a time these confidences, the

daily bulletins as to the state of her soul scribbled in pencil on

scraps of paper, and passed from one to the other as the girls met going

to and from chapel, or in recreation hours, sufficed.

Shortly after their arrival, they had been sent to separate dormitories

and tables, and kept apart during recreation, the Convent discipline not

permitting of too close an intimacy between two young girls, and there

being the added reason of the more rapid progress made in acquiring the

language when neither had the occasion to use her mother tongue.

Astrid considered it suitable to the arid state of her heart that she

should pine away, and to that end consumed bits of chalk from the

class-room blackboard, scrapings of slate pencils, and all the vinegar

within reach at meals. As may be imagined, she soon displayed an

interesting pallor, and was accordingly dosed with iron pills and quince

wine. Her heavy sighs and melancholy demeanour so impressed her fellow

pupils, that it was generally rumoured she was dying of a broken heart.

The broken heart soon mended, however, when early in the second year at

the convent, her discerning eye perceived the burning glances of a most

romantic looking youth. "Long hair, my dear, velveteen clothes, and the

most beautiful soulful eyes you ever saw," she told Ragna.

The girls were on their way, with a group of selected pupils under the

guardianship of an assistant mistress, to see a picture gallery. The

young man turned in behind the procession and followed. The next time it

was the same, and Astrid's romantic little soul thrilled at the thought

of so devoted an admirer. It was easy for the man to slip a folded note

into the girl's hand one day, as the little group straggled up the

stairway of the Louvre, and during the rest of the afternoon Astrid's

hand strayed constantly to her pocket to assure herself of the safety of

the precious paper. With eyelids lowered over shining eyes, she listened

to the droning explanations of the teacher, longing to be alone, to be

free to read the note.

This was the beginning of a correspondence, for Astrid answered the

letter and an obliging day-scholar posted the little envelope addressed

to M. Jules Gauthiez. So the two exchanged perfervid epistles, and

wrote such impassioned, if confused, outpourings, that Astrid's little

soul was consumed within her. The secret feeling of importance it gave

her betrayed itself in the brightness of her eyes and in the

self-consciousness of her voice and manner. The regimen of chalk and

vinegar fell into abeyance.

Ragna, at first amused, began to be alarmed at the situation; Astrid

keyed to the highest pitch of romantic sentimentality, was capable of

any folly, and the immediate consequences of discovery, public reprimand

and expulsion from the school, spelled unthinkable disaster to her more

serious mind. She begged Astrid to give the whole thing up, but the girl

would listen to no argument that her friend could put forward. "My love

is my life, can you ask me to tear my heart out?" she demanded.

The most Ragna could obtain, was that Astrid should be more

prudent--which meant exactly nothing.

Naturally, the Sisters could not long remain unobservant of the change

in Astrid's demeanour, and from awakened attention to discovery there

lay but a step.

Ragna was making a water colour drawing in the assembly room, when a

Sister brought her the order to go at once to the Reverend Mother. She

put by her brushes with trembling hands, and the black-robed Sister

observed her emotion curiously, but kindly.

"There, there, my child!" she said, "Reverend Mother will do you no

harm; she wishes to ask you a question, nothing more. If your conscience

is good, what do you fear?"

Ragna followed her without answering, her mind intent on the pending

interview.

The Superior's sitting-room was a comfortable apartment; a table stood

in the middle, and at one window a large writing desk. One of the walls

was occupied by a bookcase, another by a large carved _prie-dieu_ over

which hung an ivory crucifix and a silver holy-water stoup with its twig

of box.

Mother Marie Sacré Coeur, sat in a large carved armchair by the table.

She was a tall, slender woman, and her face, though unlined and delicate

as a piece of carved ivory, bore the imprint of long years of

responsibility, and conveyed the impression of a wonderful degree of

will power. It was not altogether an ascetic face, however, the grey

eyes, though keen, were human, and the strong firmly modelled mouth had

a humorous twist. The hands, long, slender and white with rather thick

thumbs, were lightly clasped over a Book of Hours bound in velvet and

silver.

By her side stood the Mère in charge of Astrid's dormitory, Mère

Perpétua, a severe, sour-looking woman, yellow under her white guimpe

and black veil. Astrid cowered beside her, looking like a prisoner in

the grasp of a gendarme; she had been crying, but her eyes had a furtive

expression and her weak, pretty mouth was set in obstinate lines. She

looked like a trapped animal, badly frightened, but feebly at bay. On

the table lay a little pile of crumpled papers, and the ribbon that had

bound them.

They all looked eagerly at Ragna as she entered, followed by Soeur

Angélique; she glanced at them each in turn, and from Astrid's eyes

caught such an agonized appeal for help that her back straightened, and

it was with a calm, almost defiant consciousness of definite purpose

that she met the Superior's interrogating gaze.

"Ragna," said the Reverend Mother, "we have called you here to ascertain

how much you know of this disgraceful affair. Mère Perpétua has found

these letters," she indicated the little heap on the table, "hidden in

Astrid's mattress. I have read them, they are letters such as no young

girl should receive from any man, even her fiancé. Our Rule has been

broken by this clandestine correspondence, and our sense of propriety

outraged; we are profoundly shocked and grieved."

"Such deceit! Such disgraceful effrontery! She brazenly denies they are

hers!" broke in Mère Perpétua, her lean face working.

"Silence!" cried the Superior. "Mère Perpétua, you forget yourself. I

had not desired you to speak." She paused a moment, then addressed

Ragna.

"You will tell us, my child, all that you know about this; it is your

duty to your companion, to us, and to yourself. On your frankness

depends to a large extent the punishment I shall deem it necessary to

impose; you may lighten it very appreciably, by telling the truth--but

if you hesitate, if I understand that you are withholding anything, it

will be the worse for both of you."

Mère Perpétua's interruption had been brief, but illuminating. Ragna

felt that her way was made clear, it was with a steady eye and a firm,

if slightly unnatural voice, that she answered:

"Reverend Mother, the letters are mine; I gave them to Astrid to keep

for me."

The effect was electrical. Astrid gasped and her jaw dropped; Mère

Perpétua stared at Ragna with the expression of one who has cherished a

viper in her bosom, and only just found it out. Soeur Angélique gave a

cry that was almost a sob. Ragna was her favourite, and she could have

wept with disappointment. Only the Superior showed no surprise; her

hands clasped the Book of Hours a little more tightly, and her keen eyes

fixed on Ragna's face seemed trying to penetrate her very soul, that was

all. Ragna returned her gaze without wavering.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Three months."

"Why did you not keep the letters yourself?"

"I was afraid of being found out!"

"Oh!" said the Reverend Mother, and laughed a little.

Her eyes went from Ragna, straight and proud, to Astrid, trembling

violently, and gazing anxiously at her friend.

"And did you answer the letters?"

"Yes."

"Who posted them for you?" Silence.

"Come, who posted them for you?"

"I will not tell," said Ragna. "I will tell anything that I have done

myself, but I refuse to tell on others--besides, the blame is mine in

any case."

The Superior nodded her head. "I shall not press the point now, we can

return to it later if need be. Are you aware of the result of this, of

what you have done? No punishment can be too severe for the girl who

deceives her friends and teachers so disgracefully, who sets so

deplorable an example to her fellow-pupils. What will your parents say

to this?"

Ragna went pale: "Oh Reverend Mother," she pleaded, "do anything to me

you like, but don't let them know of it! Oh, I know I have done wrong,

punish me as much as you please, but don't tell them!"

Astrid gathered herself together for a supreme effort; her cowardly

little soul, shamed by her friend's generosity, rose to her lips. With

tightly clasped hands, she stepped forward and began:

"Reverend Mother!"--but Ragna interrupted her quickly. She must do the

thing thoroughly or not at all; having put her hand to the plough, she

would not turn back.

"Reverend Mother, it has been very wrong of me, and I am sorry and

ashamed. Punish me however you like. I am to blame, but don't punish

Astrid, or hurt my parents; it is no fault of theirs."

The Superior laid her book on the table; her eyes, as she looked at

Ragna were full of kindly amusement, and also of respect.

"Soeur Angélique," she said, "take these girls to their dormitories,

and keep them till Benediction, afterwards I shall tell them what I have

decided upon."

As the door closed on the three, she turned to Mère Perpétua smiling.

"Well?" she said.

"What will you do with them, Reverend Mother? Shall they be publicly

expelled?"

"Ragna, as she has confessed, will be 'excused' from further walks

outside the Convent; Astrid, for having concealed the letters will be

kept at home also. You, ma Mère, will see that no word of this business

gets about among the girls--I wish no one to speak of it, _no one_."

Mère Perpétua was a study in pained amazement.

"What!" she burst forth. "No adequate punishment? Nothing to put that

brazen girl to shame for her indecent conduct? She stands here in your

presence and admits to having received the letters, and answered them,

to having corrupted her companion, as she might say: 'I have said thirty

Aves'! Oh Reverend Mother, you are too lenient! It is unjust!"

"So that is how you understand it, ma Mère? Has life taught you

nothing?"

"Life has taught me that sin requires punishment," she rejoined grimly.

"Ma Mère, I see that I must open your eyes; those letters were not

written to Ragna."

"Not written to her! Why she confessed that they were hers!"

"So she did, to save Astrid."

"Well, that only makes it worse, she has lied outrageously, and so has

Astrid--and you let them go unpunished!"

"I consider that Ragna's lie is a good lie, ma Mère. A generous lie is

better than a mean truth. I make a pretence of punishing her so that she

may not know I understand; vicarious punishment, if suffered

voluntarily, is good for the soul. As for Astrid, she is weak and

foolish, she has been thoroughly frightened, and is not likely to fall

again in the same direction--for the present at least. The sight of

Ragna, bearing the blame that should be hers, will do more for her than

any punishment you or I might inflict."

Mère Perpétua gazed at her Superior in amazement; though still

disapproving, she had a dim perception of the other's greatness of soul,

and the insight into human nature, that had made her, while still young

in years, the Head of the Community.

"You may go, ma Mère, and after Benediction you will bring our two black

sheep here."

So dismissed, Mère Perpétua took her departure, shaking her head.

The Superior remained alone, leaning her head on her hand. She thought

of the many young lives under her care, of the many girls she had seen

come and go. She thought of the many natures hopelessly warped by a

mistaken or untimely severity, shut in upon themselves, black-frosted,

as it were, in the very hour when they most need drawing out, training

and guiding by a sympathetic hand. She loved Ragna, her whole heart was

drawn to the girl in admiration for her generous assumption of the

other's fault. "She is too ready to take up others' burdens," she

thought; "God send that her own be not too heavy for her shoulders!"

The bell for Benediction interrupted her meditation. As she walked along

the passages to the Chapel the same thought pursued her, and when from

her carved stall she recognized Ragna's fair head, bowed among her

fellows, she seemed to see the halo of future suffering about it.

Ragna bending over her prayer-book, was wondering what the punishment

would be; and half defiantly she squared her shoulders to meet it. She

thought of Astrid, divided between contemptuous pity, and real sympathy

for the agonized fear displayed by the butterfly creature.

Astrid was sobbing her heart out, her face hid between her hands. She

despised herself for her weakness, and reproached herself for letting

Ragna take the blame. Later she would resent her friend's generosity,

but just now she fairly grovelled in self-abasement; she took a morbid

delight in mortifying herself in her own eyes, as formerly she had

exulted in the thought of her sentimental superiority over her comrades.

The level rays of sunlight tinged with the glory of Saints, touched the

rows of young heads, passing over some, distinguishing others, colouring

with purple and crimson the tresses, dark and fair, of the kneeling

girls, and the Chaplain holding aloft the Ostensory with its symbol of

the Great Sacrifice, glowed in a mystic radiance. Then the light went,

and the tapers on the altar twinkled like stars in the sudden twilight.

After the concluding hymns, Ragna and Astrid were again conducted to the

Superior's sitting-room, to hear her decision. The Reverend Mother had

chosen a good moment, for the service of Benediction had had its effect

on the impressionable girlish natures. Ragna was softened, and Astrid

had found moral courage enough to overcome her selfish fear.

The Reverend Mother at once saw the change and profited by it, so that

almost without their knowing it, she had soon drawn a full confession

from both girls. Astrid, once fairly started, and prone as ever to

exaggeration, would have known no limits to her self-abasement,

luxuriating in her confession of guilt, had she not been almost sternly

controlled and restrained.

Ragna, though pleased and relieved by Astrid's assumption of the

misdoing, was yet secretly disappointed in surrendering her role of

self-immolated victim. She would not have owned it to herself, she did

not even recognize the flat feeling of generous effort rendered useless,

that chilled her. Quite unconsciously she had been admiring her action.

How much self-sacrifice would there be in the world, if the self-made

victim were not secretly upheld by the nobility of the pose--even if

self be the sole admirer? There is, in every action, not the result of

passionate impulse, a certain amount of play to the gallery, even though

the gallery be only what is commonly known as conscience.

The Superior, being a wise woman, was neither too severe nor the

reverse; she improved the occasion by giving the girls a lecture which

they neither of them forgot, and dismissed them with a punishment

sufficient to keep the matter in their minds for some time, while giving

them no reason for considering themselves martyrs to discipline.

So the incident ended, and it had the effect of drawing the girls closer

together, for Astrid, having vindicated her own self-respect, could

appreciate Ragna's generosity and forgive it, while Ragna loved her

friend the better for having assumed the role of protector to her, and

could love her the more, not being obliged to despise her for

cowardice.

CHAPTER III

So the time passed and the end of the second year came; Astrid was to

remain at the Convent another twelve-month, but Ragna must return home.

With tears in her eyes she packed her boxes and took leave of the

Sisters and her companions. She had begged in vain for another

year--even six months, but her father was obdurate. He had made

arrangements with a friend of his, a sea-captain, to fetch her in Paris

and take her to Norway in his vessel. All was decided and Ragna must go.

She felt a strange shrinking from the journey and in later days came to

regard as a premonition what was probably only reluctance to face the

busy outside world after so many months of seclusion. Certain it is that

with heavy heart and red eyes she left the Convent, and Captain Petersen

was much concerned by the dolorous appearance of his charge.

"You look more like a virgin martyr being led to the stake than a pretty

young lady just let out of her cage into the world!" he told her. "Bless

my soul, if I wouldn't want to shake a loose leg after being mewed up so

long!"

He was a stout, red-faced man with merry blue eyes, and a red fringe of

beard round his face like a misplaced halo. There was nothing saintly

about him, however, though he was a thoroughly good and honest man.

"Cheer up!" he adjured Ragna, "the sea-breezes will soon blow the

cobwebs out of your brain and the colour into your cheeks--besides," he

added with a jovial wink, "I've a surprise up my sleeve for you--a

surprise most young ladies would give their eyes for!"

"What is it?" she asked for politeness' sake.

"It will keep! It will keep!" he answered delightedly.

He enlivened the long railway journey to the best of his ability, with a

constant stream of jokes and stories at which he chuckled heartily in

default of a more appreciative audience. He plied the girl with sweets

and fruit, little flasks of wine and biscuits. He was so unfailing in

his good-humoured and kindly attentions that she could not help but

respond and presently was laughing with him as merrily as possible. He

insisted on calling her "Fröken" pretending to stand in great awe of her

long skirts, chignon and "young-ladyfied" manners. He teased her by

constant references to his "surprise," but refused to tell her of what

it consisted, so that her curiosity was thoroughly aroused and her

eagerness to penetrate the mystery was only equalled by his pleasure at

the success of his diplomacy.

So they journeyed to Hamburg, and Ragna forgot to regret her

convent-life in the whirl of new sights and sensations. Captain Petersen

found time, in spite of his other occupations, to take her boating up

the Alster and to the theatre. She slept in her cabin, on the small

steamer, and amused herself when the Captain was busy, by wandering

through the city, visiting the market-place, the churches, or on the

harbour and river in the small steamboats plying ceaselessly to and fro.

The _Norje_ was to sail four days after their arrival in Hamburg. Much

preparation was being made on board, unusual, even to Ragna's

unaccustomed eyes--the state-rooms were being freshened and made ready,

and the steward was laying in stores of chickens, fruit and other

delicacies. Evidently some distinguished passengers were expected.

At last the day came, the sailing was fixed for noon, and Captain

Petersen, watch in hand, stood on deck, by the gangway, looking

expectantly up the wharf. Ragna, sitting aft under the awning, a book in

her hand, could not keep her eyes from straying in the same direction,

though she did her best to disguise her curiosity, for Captain Petersen,

true to his word, had remained adamant to her enquiries and coaxings,

and she wished him now to believe that she did not care so very much for

his old "surprise" after all. Hence the book and the carefully detached

attitude.

Down on the wharf there was a slight commotion; two carriages had

stopped, and servants and porters were hastening to and fro. Ragna saw a

young man step from the first carriage, followed by another man,

slightly older. Both had the military bearing and both were handsome,

but the first had the air of one accustomed to precedence, and his

somewhat petulant orders and gestures found instant response and

acquiescence on the part of his companion. They were too far away for

Ragna to catch their speech, though the sound of their voices reached

her, and she wondered what language they might be using; Norwegian was

out of the question; Swedish and Danish equally so; German it could not

be for their appearance was anything but German--but neither did they

look like Englishmen nor Frenchmen nor Russians, nor in fact anyone she

had ever seen.

Meanwhile Captain Petersen had hastened down the gang-plank and cap in

hand was bowing clumsily to the younger man and escorting him

deferentially to the ship. As they passed up the gang-plank to the deck,

the young man raised his head and his eyes met Ragna's, as leaning over

the rail quite forgetful of herself, in her interested surmising, she

gazed down at him. Her hat, tipped back and only held by the dark blue

ribbon tied under her chin, left her hair uncovered, and the mass of

gleaming braids and curls caught and reflected the sunlight; her blue

eyes shaded by dark lashes looked down from out the shadow of her hair,

clear, wondering and free from self-consciousness; her mouth, rather

large but well-shaped and red as that of a child, too red for the

Scandinavian fairness of her skin, was smiling, the lips just parted.

So their eyes met, his, large, dark, burning, different from any she had

ever seen, held hers a moment, then he raised his hat and passed on, as

Ragna withdrew, a flush she could not understand rising in her cheeks.

One moment only, but while his eyes held hers she had felt a curious

sensation, a sort of magnetic thrill drawing her to him, and as long as

he looked at her she could not have withdrawn her eyes, nor lowered her

lids.

It had lasted but a second, but that second, though she did not know it,

was the turning point of her life.

Captain Petersen, preceding the young man had seen nothing, he was still

murmuring disconnected phrases of greeting--"Most highly honoured! Such

condescension! Entirely at Your Highness's disposal." As they reached

the deck, the Captain stood aside to give passage to "His Highness"

disclosing to view the deck, with Ragna who had retreated to a chair at

some distance, and as His Highness stepped to the deck, his eyes

followed the Captain's to the girl; then he raised them in inquiry to

Petersen's face. The latter with a sweeping gesture and a voice

unconsciously raised to quarter-deck tones answered the unspoken

question.

"A fellow-passenger, Your Highness, the daughter of an old friend who I

am bringing back from school. She speaks French like a Russian--Will

Your Highness permit?" His Highness graciously permitted and they walked

over to Ragna who rose to her feet annoyed by the blushes which came in

spite of her, under the young stranger's scrutiny. Captain Petersen

chuckling at her embarrassment addressed her in his genial roar:

"Ragna, His Royal Highness, Prince Mirko of Montegria has permitted me

to present you, and I make you responsible for his entertainment during

the trip. Didn't I tell you I had a surprise for you that would take

your breath away? You can begin at once; I'm no carpet-knight, and

managing this ship is about enough for me. Her name is Andersen, Your

Highness, Fröken Ragna Andersen--and with your kind permission--"

someone hailed him and he bustled away.

The servants were coming on board, directing the stewards with the

luggage and the Prince's companion had already gone below to arrange the

details of the installation.

Ragna had made her curtsey and stood in silent embarrassment until

Prince Mirko broke the ice by saying smilingly:

"A kind Fate evidently presides over my destiny--but Captain Petersen

was wrong in preparing you for a surprise; he should have warned me of

the pleasure in store for me."

Then seeing how unsophisticated the girl was, and that his

complimentary phrase only added to her confusion, he put her quite at

her ease by making an ordinary remark or two about the weather, followed

by a few questions as to her life in the Convent and the journey to

Hamburg. They were still talking, standing by the rail, when the young

man who had accompanied Prince Mirko in the carriage, approached and

stopped within a few paces of them.

"Oh," said the Prince, "Mademoiselle, let me present my friend and

aide-de-camp, Count Angelescu. What is it, Otto?"

"Captain Petersen wishes to know if Your Highness will have luncheon

served in your state-room, or if you will eat in the saloon. There are

no other passengers beside your party and this young lady."

"The saloon, by all means, Otto, and tell the Captain I hope he will

join us, as well as Mademoiselle, if she will do us the honour!"--He

looked at Ragna who bowed.

Count Angelescu also bowed and withdrew--he had bowed to Ragna, bringing

his heels together with a click, when his Prince presented him, but had

seemed to give her no further attention. In reality he had observed her

closely and her frank expression and fresh youthfulness pleased him.

Ragna's impression of him was equally favourable; she liked his bronzed

soldierly face, with the grave eyes and the firm mouth under the dark

moustache. He must be thirty or over, she thought, the Prince could not

be more than twenty-four or five.

The sailors had lowered the gang-plank and were casting off the hawsers

which held the steamer to the wharf. A wheezy donkey-engine was lowering

boxes and bales through the forward hatch; on the river side a small

puffing tug was slowly warping the _Norje_ into midstream. Ragna and

the Prince could hear Captain Petersen on the bridge, now calling orders

through the tube to the engine room, now bawling through his

speaking-trumpet. His round face looked like an overgrown peony and

Ragna said so, to her companion's amusement.

"Is that the botany they teach you in Paris?" he asked.

"Oh," she answered, laughing gayly, "Paris is a place where one learns

many things!"

"Even in a Convent?"

"Even in a Convent."

He shot a stealthy glance at her from under dropped lids--the girl was

thoroughly innocent, there could be no doubt as to that. A smile

twitched his moustache--the things Paris had taught him were not

subjects usually included in the curriculum of a girls' school, and the

piquancy of the contrast between his experience of _la Villa Lumière_

and that of Ragna amused him. He stood idly watching her--her face

interested him, not from its prettiness alone--she was at the same time

more and less than pretty. It was no doll's face, the cheek-bones were

too high and prominent for the canons of perfect beauty, the mouth too

large and the forehead too high, but there was an indescribable charm he

did not seek to analyse--enough that it should be perceptible. He felt

instinctively that though childlike in her mind Ragna was no fool, and

that it would amuse him to draw her out. So he led her on to express her

opinions on various subjects grave and gay, such as came up in their

desultory conversation.

The announcement of luncheon, by means of a cracked gong, was no

interruption for the Captain excused himself on the ground that his

presence was required on the bridge, and Count Angelescu barely joined

in the conversation from time to time in response to a direct appeal

from the Prince or from Ragna.

The girl had lost all trace of shyness and was enjoying herself heartily

in the highest of spirits, and Prince Mirko seemed more like a

school-boy on a holiday than the heir to a kingdom on a diplomatic

mission. He explained to Ragna that he was on his way to Stockholm, and

from there to St. Petersburg.

"But," he said, "that is all so appallingly serious that I am cutting

capers while I may--I often cut them when I should not, don't I, Otto?

And old 'Long face' there, tries to keep me in order; old 'Long face'

does not approve of me now!" he laughed.

Count Angelescu did not reply, nor did he even smile at the sally; he

was not at all pleased by the rate at which the _camaraderie_ between

the Prince and Ragna was progressing. He knew his Prince for a "coureur

de cotillons" and scented danger from afar. "Fortunately we land the day

after to-morrow," he thought. Two days is a short time, but much can

happen in them.

Ragna had listened, astonished by the bantering challenge.

"Why," she exclaimed, "Your Highness, can you be kept in order?"

The naïve question so pleased the Prince that he roared with laughter,

as did also Count Angelescu who answered her.

"No, Mademoiselle, he can't, and that's the worst of it! I do my best;

it's no use; I advise you to beware of him, he's dangerous."

"Now, Otto, none of that! I won't have you making me out an ogre. I

assure you," he said, turning to Ragna, "that I am warranted neither to

bite nor scratch. Do I really look terrible?"

"No, indeed," she laughed, looking him in the eyes, "I am not afraid of

you!"

"Ah, Mademoiselle," said Angelescu, "it is when one thinks one's self

safest that one is generally in the greatest danger. I was never so sure

of myself as the day I fell hopelessly in love; I had the folly to think

myself woman-proof, you see, and I fell!"

"So you are married, then," said Ragna.

"No, for after all she would have none of me!"

They all joined in a laugh at this, and Ragna said: "Your sermon loses

its point, oh Preacher!"

So the luncheon-hour passed amid jest and laughter and they strolled out

to the deck where comfortable chairs awaited them under the canvas

awning. The _Norje_ was passing the islands of the Elbe--the Vierländer,

and Prince Mirko made much fun of the quaint dress of the peasant women

with their awkward hats, stiff ribbons and clumsy petticoats.

Ragna described to him the dress of the women about her home, and was

led on to talk of the many ancient customs of the country people, now

fallen into disuse, such as the duel with daggers, both men bound

together with the same leather belt, and of other contests, bloodless

ones these, when two or more men vied with each other in improvising

verse, often carrying it on far into the night. She told of the

bear-hunts, of the strange tales of returning whalers, of her Uncle Olaf

and his phantom ship, and of her fancy of seeing him in the storm.

As she talked, the men smoked; Count Angelescu watched her, charmed by

her fresh young voice and the expressive play of her features. He

thought to himself: "No, my dear friend this is no game for you. St.

Petersburg will furnish you with adversaries worthy of your steel, save

your efforts for them--this little girl is too good for you," and he

made up his mind not to leave the Prince alone with Ragna, more than was

unavoidable. Speaking to the Prince himself would do no good, very

possibly it might put ideas into his head that he had not heretofore

consciously entertained--or might crystallize the mere intent to please

into obstinate purpose of conquest. Angelescu was thoroughly determined

in his own mind that no harm should come to Ragna which he could

prevent.

Prince Mirko, on his part, was listening to her chatter, the picture of

lazy enjoyment, his graceful figure reclining easily in his deck-chair.

He played with his cigarette while watching her with narrowed eyes. He

noted the graceful poise of her head, the gleam of her heavy hair, the

fresh colour coming and going under her transparent skin, the rounded

contours of her slender figure, but it was her mouth that fascinated him

most, sinuous, sensitive and red--too red.

"Good Lord," he reflected, "what a temperament the girl must have! I

wonder what kind of a man will get her? Her husband--or lover, will be a

lucky man. I shouldn't object myself, to playing Pygmalion to her

Galatea." He fell to imagining what she would be like when the crude

innocence of her eyes should give way to a depth of passionate feeling,

when the barely perceptible circles under them should widen and darken,

and her mouth--that luscious, voluptuous, childish mouth should take a

man's kisses and return them. He thrilled at the thought, then pulled

himself together ashamed at the direction his thoughts had taken. "You

fool," he said to himself, "can't you leave that child alone? I really

believe Otto was not far wrong in warning her against me--I'll show him

he's wrong though, I'm not as bad as that! I may be a bit of a Don Juan,

but I'm not a _mangeur de petits enfants_!"

He rose to throw his cigarette-butt over the side and lighting a fresh

one strolled up and down the deck, watching the shores slip by.

Captain Petersen at that moment joined them and his presence amalgamated

the discordant unities of the group. Ragna had felt, without

understanding it, a sort of moral tension during the last few moments,

and though the Prince's abrupt rising had relieved it, there persisted

an uncomfortable undercurrent of conflicting influences. Captain

Petersen's cheery red face and jovial manner came like a rush of fresh

air into an overheated room. He indicated the various points of interest

as they steamed by and regretted that they would pass Heligoland after

dark.

"If it keeps clear, we shall see it by moonlight though," he promised

them.

Ragna sought her cabin early on the plea of getting ready for dinner,

and contrary to her custom spent much time over her toilette, trying her

hair this way and that, and passing in review her not too extensive

wardrobe. She had awakened to a sense of coquetry; she was newly

conscious of a deliberate desire to please.

When she had finished she viewed with dissatisfaction the image her

glass reflected: her hair seemed to her much too formal and

school-girlish in its arrangement, yet had she known it, the severe

lines of burnished plaits suited her small, well-shaped head and the

crude youthful curves of face and slender neck far better than any more

elaborate style. Her dark-blue frock opening in a point at the throat

and leaving the fore-arms bare, seemed suddenly to her newborn critical

sense too childish and plain--and again it suited her perfectly,

throwing into relief the whiteness of her skin and the fairness of her

hair, the lack of frill and furbelow emphasizing the slender waist and

the rounded slimness of hip and breast. And she longed for trained

ringlets and lace flounces.

Dinner was not as pleasant a meal, she thought, as luncheon; the Prince

was silent, almost moody, and conversation languished.

Count Angelescu, quick to perceive the change in his Prince's manner,

and as quickly guessing the cause, did his best to second so worthy a

resolve by making an effort to keep up a conversation on indifferent

topics and to engage Ragna's attention and interest. He was not much of

a conversationalist, however, and quite unused to the society of young

girls. In his part of the world girls were rarely, if ever, seen in

society and the stories and small talk adapted to the married women of

his acquaintance were certainly not of a type suited to present

circumstances.

Ragna was disappointed; she took the Prince's bad humour for a touch of

hauteur and suspected him of regretting having unbent in her society. So

piqued and hurt she made no effort to second Angelescu's efforts. She

ate little and refused wine until champagne was brought and Prince Mirko

insisted upon filling her glass. He had been secretly amused by his

aide's laborious attempts at entertainment and Ragna's very evident

chagrin at his aloofness flattered his vanity. In spite of his

resolution to maintain a barrier of formality between them he could not

resist the temptation of making her face resume its former sunny

expression. Raising his glass in which the bubbles were winking merrily

he said: "Let us drink, Otto, to the health of Mademoiselle, who has

turned the desert of a Norwegian ship into a garden for us!"

Ragna looked up, blushing and smiling; they both touched their glasses

to hers and drank.

"Now Mademoiselle, you must answer the toast!"

"I? Oh, never!" she cried in confusion. "I have never answered a toast

in my life. I don't know how!" Then recovering herself, "You may answer

it for me if you like."

"Shall I?" he asked. "Very well then, I rise, lady and gentleman--no I

don't, I sit down," as a lurch of the ship threw him back into his chair

and spilt half the contents of his glass--"I sit then, as the elements

won't permit of my standing, to thank you for the toast just drunk, and

to propose in return our newborn friendship!"

They all drank to that.

"There," said Mirko, "that is better; we have set the seal on our

present relation. The Present with a capital P. is always the best life

has to offer. Yesterday is dead and to-morrow is in darkness: to-day

only we live. _Carpe diem_ was the motto of the Ancients and it is

mine!"

"Oh, no, not of all the Ancients," objected Ragna quickly, horrified at

the Pagan irresponsibility of the thought, "the Stoics did not live for

the pleasure of the hour, they taught themselves to forego pleasure. I

think it is nobler to deny one's self," she added timidly.

"Deny one's self? What for?" demanded the Prince. "Why should I deny

myself anything for the sake of others' pleasure? Am I not as good as

they? And besides if I deny myself it only makes them selfish. To be

really altruistic I should indulge myself on every occasion with the

object of cultivating a beautiful unselfishness in others--that would be

true self-sacrifice"--He stopped, laughing at the extreme bewilderment

of the girl's face. She had lived entirely among serious-minded people,

devoid of a sense of humour, and was unused to hear what were, to her,

serious matters bandied about as subjects for jest; she rejoined

gravely:

"You say, 'live only for the day,' but there is a to-morrow--someone

must always bear the consequences, it can't keep on being just 'to-day'

however much we may wish it."

The remark was characteristic of her, and she was one on whom life's

to-morrows would fall heavily. Angelescu came to her assistance.

"Mademoiselle refuses to accept the sophistry of Your Highness's

arguments," he said smiling. "Sophistry, why it is the simple truth, and

the Epicureans are your true Stoics. _Carpe diem!_ Let us drink to

_carpe diem_!"

"Not I," said Ragna.

"Very well then, Mademoiselle la Stoique--but I shall make it my

business to convert you. Let us then drink to the health of our noble

selves. What do you say, in Norwegian, when you drink a health?"

"Skaal," said Ragna.

"Skaal, then," said both men raising their glasses and looking at Ragna,

who half timidly raised hers to her lips, then put it down again--and

Prince Mirko added under his breath as he drained his glass,

"And to your conversion, my dear."

On deck, a fresh breeze was blowing, and Ragna bound a long scarf over

her head and wrapped her travelling-cloak well about her. Accompanied

by the two men she paced briskly up and down the deck inhaling joyfully

the strong sea air.

"Let us try the other side," she said presently, and they turned forward

of the wheel-house: At the turn the wind caught the long ends of her

scarf and wound them about the Prince's neck; they paused to disentangle

the soft silken thing, Prince Mirko's hands delaying rather than

hastening the process, when a lurch of the vessel flung Ragna against

him. He steadied himself with one arm against the deck-house and with

the other supported the girl, holding her firm young body close to his.

He held her but a moment more than was needful, but in that moment,

pressed close to him, his moustache brushing her cheek, she felt a

repetition of the same thrill, half attraction, half fear, which had

come over her the first time their eyes met. It was over in an instant

and they were running down the deck before the wind, but Ragna felt a

new and strange constraint upon her which did not wear off as the

evening advanced.

She waited up long enough to see Heligoland rising up dark and

forbidding on the starboard side in the half-light of the moon. The

cloud-wrack behind, seemed like the wings of some monster bird of prey

about to swoop down upon the island, crouching to repel the attack. As

she watched, a cloud passed over the moon and a jagged line of lightning

cleft the darkening mass on the horizon. The flash lasted but the

fraction of a second, but she had seen a ship carrying full sail

silhouetted against the storm-cloud. The ship stood out for an instant

in wonderful relief, every spar and rope clear-cut against the sombre

background, then was swallowed up into the night.

"It is Uncle Olaf," thought Ragna. "He has come to warn me--but of

what?"

She turned to Angelescu, leaning on the rail beside her.

"Did you see the ship?"

"The ship! What ship? When?"

"Just over there, against that black cloud in the lightning flash."

As she spoke the lightning flared again but revealed nothing.

"You see there is no ship, Mademoiselle," said Angelescu, "and landsman

though I be, I know that she would show some lights if she were there."

"Then," said Ragna in a low voice, "the sign is not for you--it was the

ship of my Uncle Olaf."

"What are you talking about so earnestly?" asked Prince Mirko, joining

them. He had been lighting a cigarette in the shelter of the

companion-way. His tone was suspicious, he thought that Angelescu might

have been warning the girl against him. The mere fact that he suspected

such a contingency and resented it, was proof patent that his good

resolution of the afternoon had fallen into abeyance.

During the brief moment when he had held her in his arms, had felt her

heart beating under his hand and the stray locks of her hair blowing

across his face, his pulse had given a leap, and had it not been for

Angelescu's restraining presence, he would have kissed her.

Angelescu hastened to reassure him:

"Mademoiselle has seen the phantom ship of her phantom uncle--I have

not, which proves that my spiritual vision is defective."

Ragna laughed.

"Should I be able to see your family ghost, I wonder?" she queried.

"What makes you think I have a family ghost, Mademoiselle?"

"Everyone has them--you, the Prince--oh, everyone!"

"If you mean a private, particular ghost, Mademoiselle, every man or

woman has one after a certain age. Sometimes it is the ghost of the 'has

been,' sometimes of the 'what might have been,' and sometimes of both.

But you are too young for that sort of ghost--and I pray you may never

have a worse one than your Uncle Olaf's."

"Oh, stow all that nonsense about ghosts," said the Prince testily. "Why

should you fill up a poor girl's head with that sort of thing? Will you

not walk again, Mademoiselle, and let the wind blow all these cobwebs

away?"

But Ragna refused; it was late, she said, four bells had just struck,

and it was time for bed. The men strolled over to the companion-way with

her and each kissed her hand. Angelescu brushed it respectfully with his

moustache, but the Prince set his lips upon it and the burning seal of

his mouth sent a current through her veins. She snatched her hand away

and fled to her cabin.

The men walked slowly up and down the lee-side of the deck, the swinging

lamp grotesquely lengthening and broadening their shadows as they passed

under its feeble ray.

"Otto," said the Prince suddenly, "what do you think of the girl? Is she

as innocent as she appears?"

"I think," rejoined Angelescu, weighing every word, "that she is

entirely too good a girl to play with and fling away. Anyone can see

that she is nothing but a child at heart, and a man who can't marry her

has no business to wake her up."

"Which means me? Well, calm yourself, good Otto, calm yourself, the fair

maiden runs no danger that I know of. I have no foul intentions on her

virtue! A little fun does no one any harm--What makes you such an old

fogy any way, damn you? I don't recognize you in the role of St.

Anthony, nor myself either for the matter of that!" he chuckled

reminiscently.

"Your Highness knows," answered Angelescu, "that I am no saint, and I

don't mind a bit of a game myself, when there is any sport in it, but in

this case it would be entirely too one-sided. Wait till you find someone

who knows the rules of the game--there's no glory in turning the heads

of boarding-school misses!" He puffed disgustedly at his cigarette which

had gone out, then threw it away and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"You're right, old man; that's the worst of you, fidus Achates, you're

always right in the main--but I think this time you are just a little

bit off the track. Have I not already declared my intention of

respecting virtuous innocence? What more would you have? And if I throw

in a lesson or two, just a kindergarten lesson in the gentle art of

flirtation, what harm is there?"

Angelescu shrugged his shoulders and moved away. He knew better than to

prolong a useless discussion, and he knew equally well from experience

what the Prince might consider as legitimately included in his

"kindergarten of flirtation." Judging from his own impression of Ragna

and of the capabilities of her temperament once aroused, he realized

the danger to her peace of mind which would inevitably follow the merest

spark of sense awakening. "There would be the devil to pay," he thought

and as before reflected that fortunately the time was short.

CHAPTER IV

Ragna, tired out by the long day of new experience, soon fell asleep in

her narrow berth. It seemed to her that after a long sleep of which she

was dimly conscious she awoke to find herself in a strange country, a

wide grass-covered plain running to the foot of low mountains, a rolling

plain extending right and left as far as the eye could reach. The sky

was heavy with thunder clouds, and against the dark heavens and the

grassy knolls and bottoms ran a series of arches--white arches, some

broken, some still whole and joined one to the other like an

interminable bridge. She was no longer a girl but a hare, running

bounding along, and after her ran a greyhound the fleetest of his kind,

following her in long easy leaps. It seemed to her that though she was

the hare, yet it was as if she stood at a distance and watched the

chase, saw the anguished turning and doubling of the hare, saw the

greyhound ever nearer and nearer, about to overtake his prey. At last

the storm broke, and amid the wild lightnings and the crashing thunder,

the end came--one last despairing bound, and Ragna, the hare, felt the

pursuer's teeth close in her panting side. With a shriek she sat up in

her berth. Above, the sailors were holy-stoning the deck, and the cabin

was as she had seen it the night before, her clothes swaying to the

motion from the hooks on the wall where she had hung them. Now and again

a green wave washed over the closed port-hole.

She flung herself back on her pillow. Drops of perspiration beaded her

forehead, and in spite of her wish to laugh at the relief of finding her

dream only a dream after all, she was still dominated by the mysterious

anguish with which the dream had filled her. Thinking it over, she

shuddered and had need to feel the stuff curtain of her berth to assure

herself that she was really awake. She looked at her watch; it was not

yet six o'clock, but accustomed to the early rising at the Convent, she

felt it impossible to fall asleep again, so she rose and performed her

toilette, amused by the difficulty of dressing on a floor which swung up

and down under her feet sending her staggering to and fro like a drunken

man.

In the deserted saloon a steward brought her zwieback and coffee, and

after she had eaten she went on deck carrying a handful of bread with

which to feed the gulls. She was standing in the stern, looking out over

the narrowing foamy wake, and throwing the bits of crust to the hungry

birds, watching them wheel and plunge and seize the tempting morsel,

while those who caught nothing vented their displeasure in angry

squawks, when Captain Petersen joined her. He slyly stole up behind her

and pinched her rosy cheek with a "Hey, now, what's our young lady doing

about so early? Stealing bread, too! Dear, dear that will never do!"

Ragna turned laughing to meet the mock reproof.

"Well, what do you think of the old man now? Haven't I managed to give

you pleasant company for the voyage, little one? A real prince, too, not

many would have pulled that off for you! And you know how to keep him

entertained!"

He shook his finger at her.

"Don't think that because I was cooped up on the bridge all day, I

didn't see anything that was going on, Miss Sly-boots!"

He laughed uproariously, and Ragna glanced apprehensively back over the

deck to assure herself that no one was within hearing.

"What did you see, Captain Petersen?" she asked. "I am sure there was

nothing extraordinary, and it was you who asked me to entertain His

Highness!"

"So I did," roared the Captain, "so I did, and the little Minx must

needs set her cap at him as well--and capture him, horse, guns and foot!

A little lass just out of a convent at that!"

Ragna was much embarrassed by this well-meaning banter, and in terror

lest he should revive the subject in the Prince's presence--if that were

to happen she would surely die of shame! "Captain Petersen," she said,

"I have never set my cap at anyone, please don't say such things! The

Prince is very kind to take any notice of a little girl like me, and he

must find me very simple after the ladies he sees in society. Do be

good, Captain Petersen, don't tease me again please, I don't like it! I

think I will go down now and write some letters and my diary."

Captain Petersen shook with laughter.

"And so it is a child and not a young lady at all, in spite of its long

skirts, and _it_ doesn't like to be teased about Princes--and _it_

thinks it will run away and write to be rid of me!"

Then as he saw tears of vexation rise in Ragna's eyes he realized that

he had gone too far and like the gentleman he was, hastened to

apologize.

"There, there, my dear, forgive an old sea-dog his joke! I meant nothing

by it, but if you don't like it we won't say any more. I may be a bit

rough and ready, my dear, and I'm not used to turning compliments and

dancing on carpets, but I wouldn't hurt you for the world."

"I'm sure you wouldn't, Captain," said Ragna, laying her hand on his

blue sleeve and smiling up into his kindly eyes. They stood there a few

minutes longer watching the cloud of whirling white and grey gulls, and

Ragna threw her last crumbs of bread; then they walked forward and the

girl went to the saloon to write her letters, while the Captain returned

to the bridge.

In the saloon she found Angelescu just finishing his breakfast. He rose,

serviette in hand, as she entered.

"You are up early, Mademoiselle!"

"Oh," she answered, "I have been up for hours; I have been on deck

feeding the gulls."

"And now you are going to have some breakfast? Let me call the steward."

"Thank you, Monsieur, I breakfasted before I went on deck. I have come

down to write a little. Please don't let me interrupt your breakfast."

As she spoke, she moved over to a small table set across the end of the

saloon, and laid upon it her writing case and travelling inkstand.

Angelescu resumed his seat and silence reigned except for the usual

noises of the ship and the scratching of Ragna's pen.

The Count having finished his repast went on deck, where he was hailed

by Captain Petersen and invited to the bridge, where the good Captain

set forth at some length the principles of navigation, and enjoyed

himself thoroughly, not often having had the fortune to meet with so

considerate a listener; for the Count, though more bored than otherwise

by the Captain's disquisition, sprinkled as it was by innumerable

technical details, maintained throughout an air of courteous interest.

So delighted was Captain Petersen that he actually sent for his private

bottle of "schnapps" and insisted on his visitor's partaking thereof to

close the interview.

Ragna had settled herself on deck with a rug and a book, and evidently

expected Count Angelescu to join her as he descended from the bridge,

but he only bowed--it seemed that he also had some writing to do. Much

as he felt inclined to sit down by her, he realized that after what had

passed between him and the Prince, it would not be wise for him to

appear to devote more time or attention to her than courtesy required.

And moreover he felt that it would not be easy for him to remain too

long alone with Ragna without falling to a certain extent victim to the

charm which she unquestionably exerted.

Ragna therefore spent the long morning between her book and short

constitutionals up and down the deck. Part of the time she lay lazily

watching the changing cloud shapes, the spray dashing up to catch the

sunlight and falling again like a shower of diamonds, the ceaseless

march onward of the white crested waves. Leaning on the rail, she

followed the churning lines of foam, swirling deep down in the marble

like water and rising again to the surface in a lacy pattern of tiny

bubbles.

So the time passed until shortly after eleven the Prince appeared

followed by Angelescu. They drew up chairs, and after the first

salutations were over, Ragna bantered the Prince on his late rising.

"Ah, but my dear young lady," he answered, "you do not know the night I

spent. In the first place, your charming image held sleep at bay for

hours, and then a less romantic reason kept me awake. My bed was made

like a jam-roll, and it did roll--it rolled off three times, and each

time I had to get up and put it back."

Ragna laughed; the Norwegian fashion of bed making was one to which she

was well accustomed and she had never thought of the effect it might

have on a stranger.

"Ah, you may well laugh," continued Mirko, "but if you had seen me

taming that wild beast of a bed, and at the same time trying to keep my

balance on that see-saw floor you would have wept tears of compassion."

"Crocodile tears, I fear," said Angelescu drily.

"Then they began holy-stoning the deck just as I had fallen asleep, and

I had to begin all over again. I am convinced, Mademoiselle, that I was

not born to sail the seas!"

Ragna laughed and sparkled; in the clear morning light, the vague

distrust and fear of him, which had assailed her the evening before,

seemed a ridiculous trick of the imagination and of a piece with her

foolish dream. The man was simple, gay and straightforward enough now,

in all conscience! His eyes, whose magnetic power had so troubled her

the day before, now reflected nothing but merry good humour, as he gave

his whimsical account of his night's experiences. He rattled along in a

cheerful way, making them all laugh at his nonsense and merry conceits.

Captain Petersen lunched with the party, his jolly red face beaming like

a rising sun. Ragna thought she had never laughed so much in all her

life. When they had finished she fed the gulls again with the help of

the Prince and Angelescu, who vied with each other in seeing who could

toss the crumbs farthest. One large gull, an old white fellow, either

stronger or more masterful than the others, was getting more than his

share; he would wait until another bird had caught a crumb and would

then bear down on him, wings spread, legs extended, and with wild

squawks oblige the poor thing to drop the coveted morsel, whereupon he

would pounce upon it and devour it, only to begin all over again. Ragna

pointed him out to the men and the Prince nicknamed him "Napoleon."

It was very pleasant there in the stern. Ragna seated herself on a coil

of rope in the shadow of a life-boat, and the men leaned lazily on the

rail watching the exploits of "Napoleon." Angelescu had always a certain

soldierly stiffness about him from his clear-cut face to his trim feet,

suggestive of an uncompromising attitude of mind where honour or

principle were involved. Prince Mirko was a picture of lazy, rather

feline grace; not to be characterized as effeminate, he yet did not

convey an impression of masculine supremacy, in spite of his broad

shoulders and the insolent lift of his moustache; his eyes were too

large, his hands and feet too small, his hair too silky, the symmetry of

his shape too perfect. He looked more like some handsome arrogant animal

than a man born to command men--yet there was no denying his

distinction, he was undoubtedly a thoroughbred.

Presently they returned to the shade of the awning and the deck chairs,

and the Prince drawing a notebook from his pocket, made little sketches

of Ragna.

"I shall carry something of you with me when our ways part," he said.

Ragna felt much flattered and regretted that her list of accomplishments

did not include drawing.

"But," she said, turning to Angelescu, who had sat a silent spectator,

"you can draw, I am sure, will you not make me a little sketch?"

Angelescu would be delighted; he went to his cabin and returned with

sketch book and pencil, and without more ado began work. Ragna wished to

look over his shoulder, but he would not hear of it.

"You must be patient till I have finished, Mademoiselle, I am not as

accomplished a draughtsman as the Prince, and I could not do anything if

you watched me."

Finally he produced a very pretty little sketch, representing the rail

at the stern, with the slender figure of a girl silhouetted against it,

one arm flung out in the act of scattering crumbs. The action was

spirited, the whole thing suggested by a few clear decisive strokes of

the pencil. Ragna was delighted with it and begged leave to inspect the

Count's sketch book; he refused in an embarrassed way, and the Prince,

seeing an occasion to tease his friend, made as if to snatch at the book

crying--

"Fie, how can you refuse a lady. What have you drawn that is so very,

very naughty that it can't be seen? Out with it!"

As he spoke, his hand touched the book, and in his haste to withdraw it,

Angelescu seized the upper cover. The book opened and two loose leaves

fluttered out and fell at Ragna's feet. She picked them up to return to

him, glancing at them involuntarily as she did so, and her attention was

arrested. The first sketch was a portrait of herself, idealized, but an

excellent likeness; the other was the Prince, also an admirable

likeness, but conveying an impression of evil--not conscious evil,

however, rather the face of a faun through whose eyes looked out a

laughing fiend. Ragna shivered unconsciously and turned to the Prince,

in whose good humoured countenance she failed to detect the slightest

expression similar to that in the drawing.

"So," said Mirko, "our dear Otto has been exercising his talents at our

expense! very clever indeed. The sketch of Mademoiselle is charming,

but, my dear fellow, what has induced you to lend my humble features to

your conception of the Devil? You flatter me, you do indeed!"

Angelescu visibly annoyed, made answer,

"I am sorry, I did not wish Mademoiselle to see that I had taken the

liberty of attempting her likeness without her permission, and I can

only beg that she will accept the little sketch as a token that she

bears me no ill will. As for the other, Your Highness, it was only an

idle fancy of mine, and it is only by accident that it may seem to

resemble you."

Ragna looked at the little sketches thoughtfully and said, "Count

Angelescu, you were wrong in sketching me without my permission, but I

will forgive that--especially as you have made me so pretty. As the

Prince has some sketches of me, I will let you keep this, if you wish

it, and I will keep the other."

But the Prince would have none of that.

"What, Mademoiselle, you wish to keep me before your eyes as a devil?

Never in the world; I won't have it!"

In the end, Angelescu was persuaded to draw another portrait of the

Prince with which to redeem the "Devil Sketch" which Ragna insisted on

holding as hostage until it should be replaced by a better.

More than once, in the course of the afternoon, Angelescu pleaded that

he had writing that must be attended to, official papers and reports

that must be prepared, but Mirko refused to let him go.

"You can do all that later," he would say.

Ragna caught Angelescu glancing anxiously at him from time to time, as

though suspecting him of some ulterior motive. The aide could hardly

insist, however, especially after the episode of the sketches--indeed he

had an uneasy feeling that the last word had not been said with regard

to them, and that the Prince meant to turn the situation thus created to

his own personal advantage. So the afternoon wore on, the Prince keeping

the ball of conversation gaily rolling, nothing in his appearance giving

the slightest hint that he thought of anything beyond the careless

enjoyment of the passing hour.

The sun was nearing the horizon as they went below to prepare for

dinner. A few light clouds flecked the sky, looking like the fleeces of

wandering lambs.

"It will be a perfect evening," said Mirko, "and we shall have a full

moon."

Ragna put on the same frock she had worn the evening before--it was her

best--but to-night she turned it in a little more at the neck and bosom,

and pinned on a piece of lace given her by her mother when she left

home. Her skin showed white in the opening and her delicate throat rose

from its frame like the stalk of a flower.

The Captain came to the saloon for dinner and sat at the head of the

table, having Prince Mirko on his right and Angelescu on his left; Ragna

sat by the Prince. All had good appetites and did full justice to the

excellent fare provided.

The Prince had given orders that champagne be served from the very

beginning and he made it his care to replenish Ragna's glass as often

as she emptied it.

Captain Petersen, busy with his dinner and in entertaining his

distinguished passengers to the best of his ability, noticed nothing,

but Angelescu's eyes were grave as he observed the girl's flushed

cheeks, and unnaturally bright eyes. He even ventured so far as to ask

her whether she were fond of champagne, to which she answered innocently

that she liked it very much but had never drunk much wine of any kind

whatever.

Captain Petersen broke in with his genial roar. "So you like the

champagne, Fröken Ragna? So do I! So do I! Not but what a little

'schnapps' in season, has its merits--still I suppose champagne is

better for a young lady than 'schnapps'!"

Angelescu relapsed into silence; if the captain, who was, in a way the

girl's guardian, saw nothing amiss, he himself would do no more. To do

the Prince justice, he had no thought of making his neighbour take more

than was good for her; he had no intention of doing her the slightest

harm; he wished to give her pleasure and at the same time to enjoy

himself. If in filling her glass he wore a slight air of bravado it was

that Angelescu's evident distrust of him and his intentions had stirred

up a certain obstinacy within him, and he was possessed by the desire to

outrage the would be protector's feelings. Mirko had shrewdly guessed

that Angelescu entertained a warmer regard for Ragna than he was willing

to admit of to himself; that the assumption of the protector's role

might not be wholly the disinterested or rather uninterested attitude

that the Count wished it to appear, as that, when at the close of dinner

Ragna went to her cabin for a wrap, he drew Angelescu aside and said to

him:

"I wish you to understand once and for all, Otto, that I will not

tolerate your interference and your silent criticism. It is all very

well for you to think that because you are older than I, and because we

have always been comrades you have the right to control me. I am your

Prince, and you will do well to remember the fact."

Angelescu, his face burning, cut to the quick, saluted and answered

stiffly.

"Your Highness shall be obeyed," then turned on his heel; but Mirko

called him back, already regretting the sharpness of his tone and

language towards his old playmate and faithful friend.

"Hold on, old man, don't take it like that! I didn't mean what I said,

at least not all. You seem to think me a sort of villain in disguise,

and you arrogate to yourself the responsibility for my conduct in every

direction. You sat at table glaring at me as if I were trying to poison

Mademoiselle. Now what is the matter with you?"

"I thought that Your Highness did not realize the fact that she is only

a child and quite unused to champagne--"

"Did you not hear the Captain?"

"The Captain is a rough old sailor, unused to young girls; I thought--"

"You think too much, Otto. Besides, it's rather new for you to play the

part of 'Squire of Dames' to wandering damsels--I believe the root of

the matter is that you are in love with the girl, yourself. Why don't

you marry her? You could, you know."

"Your Highness knows very well that I am not free to marry," said

Angelescu in a low voice, a dark flush spreading over his face. The

Prince knew well, as did everyone else, that his aide was bound, and had

been for years, to a married woman of high rank, whose unhappy married

life had been responsible for the forming of the liaison, and that now

time and custom and a quixotic sense of moral obligation continued to

bind the unfortunate Angelescu to the lady's chariot wheels, though any

feeling he had had for her was long since dead.

Ragna's entrance put a stop to further explanations, and Angelescu

excused himself, saying that he must attend to the neglected writing of

the afternoon. So the other two were left with the deck to themselves.

It was a perfect evening, the full moon hung low in an almost cloudless

sky and the broad silver pathway over the water looked like a carpet

laid for a procession of fairies. Ragna hung over the rail in an ecstasy

of appreciative joy.

"Oh, isn't it just like Heaven!" she murmured.

"I can't say," answered Mirko, "never having been there, but it would

make a good setting for a love scene. Imagine it for a honeymoon!"

"I must answer like Your Highness," laughed Ragna, "never having had a

honeymoon I can't very well imagine one."

"Then look at the lovers in the moon."

"Lovers in the moon!"

"What! have you never seen them?"

"I see only the hare, with his two long ears."

"Look again, the lady is on the right, and you see her head in profile,

her lover has a beard--there, do you see?"

"No," said Ragna, "I still do not see."

"That is because your eyes have not been opened; when you have had a

lover, you will see the Lovers in the moon."

Ragna laughed at the idea.

"Why should having a lover improve one's eyesight?" she asked.

"It will not improve your physical eyes, Mademoiselle, but it will open

your spiritual eyes to the world; just now your heart is blind."

To this Ragna found no answer; she stood silent, her face turned up to

the moon, still looking vainly for the Lovers. Mirko stood gazing at her

tempted by her fairness, her simplicity, and the moonlight.

"Do you realize the delightfulness of this episode?" he asked her

abruptly. "It will be like an oasis in the desert to look back on. I

should like you to forget this evening, that we are anything but just

our two selves; there is no Prince, there is no Fröken Andersen, we are

just you and I and nothing more. Yesterday we met, to-morrow we part,

probably for ever, so that there can be no thought of past or future to

embarrass us. There is no yesterday and no to-morrow, no time and no

limitation of space; we are all the world, we are quite alone and

detached from everything, you and I and the moon!"

His eyes were fastened on hers and held them; she could not have moved

away had she wished.

She answered in an embarrassed way:

"You wish to stop the hands of the clock for this evening?"

"Exactly--with your help."

The romance of the situation appealed to her.

"The clock has stopped," she announced gravely.

"Thank you," he murmured raising her hand to his lips.

Ragna laughed uneasily; it seemed to her that she was living in some

fairy tale.

The Prince led her to a deck chair and drew up another beside it. From

where they sat they could see the moon and the light upon the water,

but they were screened from the companion-way door, and indeed from most

of the deck, by the ventilator of the saloon and the shadow of a

life-boat. It was unusually warm for the North Sea, especially for so

early in the season, and Ragna found her heavy cloak oppressive.

"Take care you do not get cold," said the Prince as he helped her to

loosen the clasp at the neck. The whiteness of her throat seemed like

marble in the moonlight. Her hook had caught in her lace collar, and in

disentangling it the Prince's fingers brushed her bosom; they gave her a

tingling sensation and she started up.

"I beg your pardon," said Mirko; "it was not intentional, but if it had

been would you resent it? Where is the harm, are we not friends?"

"Friends," said Ragna, "just friends. You must not do things like that."

"Then give me your hand. Has anyone ever read your palm? No?"

He took her hand lying idly on a fold of her cloak and held it up in the

moonlight.

"I cannot see the lines, it is too dark, but your hand is beautiful, so

soft, so tapering!"

He drew the tips of his fingers over her palm and had the satisfaction

of seeing her shiver. She tried to draw her hand away, but he kept it.

"Ragna, little Ragna, there are many things, I should like to say to

you, but I am afraid you would misunderstand me. Do you know what you

are? You are the Sleeping Beauty, you are asleep, no one has come yet to

wake you; you are waiting for the Prince."

He paused, stroking her hand. His touch seemed to magnetise her, for her

hand lay passive within his and she made no effort to withdraw it as he

leaned towards her. The music of his voice seemed to hold her

enthralled,--perhaps the champagne she had drunk had something to do

with it,--she had no volition, her will was asleep.

"Who will the 'Prince' be, Ragna? A fair-haired lover with cold blue

eyes, or a Southerner--one who will burn you with his passion, who will

reveal to you all the magic of love? Is it not worth everything to feel

one's self awake, to live?"

The sense of his physical nearness almost overpowered her and she moved

uneasily. Mirko's fingers had crept to her wrist and seemed to burn the

tender skin.

"Are you afraid of me, Ragna?" he asked.

She answered that she was not, ashamed that he should think her timid

and unsophisticated. If he talked to her in this way, it must be the way

of the world, of his world. She felt that none of the men she had known

would speak to her as he spoke--but then she could not imagine their

doing so, without appearing extremely ridiculous. And then, she

reflected the Prince and she were on the open deck,--there could be no

harm, so she surrendered herself to the fascination of the moment.

"Ragna," the melodious voice at her ear murmured, "I could teach you so

much, so very much that you do not know--so many things that you will

never know if you marry one of your cold country men! I would teach you

to live, dear, to live and to love; I could make your heart beat and

your veins burn; I would hold you hard and fast in my arms,--or quite

lightly, and under my caresses you would live--oh, Ragna, to see the

light of Life in your sea-blue eyes, to feel your red lips learn to

kiss, to feel your beautiful body quiver, as you learned the mystery of

Love!"

In reality he had lost his head, he had let himself be led on by his

passionate fancy,--at first only a playful desire to flatter the girl,

to lead her on to graceful flirtation, but his hot blood had got the

better of him, and as he proceeded, the voluptuous image called up by

his words inflamed his senses and lost him to all sense of restraint or

prudence. He seized the girl, for Ragna, dazed, intoxicated and

fascinated by his daring speech, and by the magnetic suggestion of his

desire, opposed no resistance to his encircling arms. He drew her to

him, and covered her neck and bosom with burning kisses. She gasped half

fainting, then he took her mouth, and her eyes opened wide at the

revelation of a sensation the like of which she had never imagined.

But with the revelation came the awakening; with a frantic effort she

broke from him and stumbled to the rail. The action brought him to

himself and to a sense of shame.

"Oh, Ragna," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "What have I done!

Pardon me! It was too much for me, your beauty, having you there, so

near me! Ragna, speak to me, tell me that you forgive me!"

He moved towards her, but seeing her shrink away from him, he stopped.

Ragna put out a trembling hand, and with a shaking voice said:

"Oh, why did you! Oh, you have spoiled it all!"

She turned to the rail, and hiding her face in her hands began to cry.

Mirko was really touched and concerned. He had no idea that a girl could

take a kiss so seriously, it gave him the measure of her innocence. He

came to her side and putting his hand on her shoulders tried to console

her with awkward phrases, but she still sobbed on. At last he began to

be annoyed and said rather sharply:

"What are you weeping so about anyway? Your life is not ruined, I have

kissed you, but I have apologized--I would never have done so if I had

known you would take it like this!"

Ragna looked up, bewilderment on her face. What! He could take it so

lightly! Then it was not so terrible after all? The poor child had felt

herself dishonoured for ever.

"But you will despise me for letting you kiss me!"

He was quick to seize the advantage.

"Despise you? Never in the world! What a little goose you are! What harm

is there in a kiss? And don't worry about it, I took it without your

consent--but you liked it--come now, be honest and admit that! I know

you liked it, I felt it!"

He stopped, seeing that he was going too far. Ragna had turned away from

him, her face burning. It was quite true, too true, she had felt herself

respond. What right had she to be indignant, since she must acknowledge

to herself that she had not resisted him, that she had not wished to.

His low vibrant voice continued:

"And one thing you can never change, never drive from your memory,--I

have had your first kiss; you will never forget that. No woman ever

forgets her first kiss, or her first lover:--"

He paused hearing footsteps approaching over the deck, and stepped to

the girl's side.

"Someone is coming," he said; "for God's sake pull yourself together and

remember that a kiss is not a crime. Come now, tell me you forgive me,

quick!" His voice had an imperious note, and Ragna yielded to it; she

turned to him, tears still shining on her long lashes in the moonlight.

"There, you do forgive me, it is understood?"

"Yes," she murmured.

"Pull your cloak up about your shoulders and hook it," he ordered and

she obeyed.

The footsteps had by now made the tour of the deck and were approaching

the sheltered nook; they rang loud in the silence. It was Captain

Petersen and as he hove in sight, his cheerful voice woke the echoes:

"So here I find them as snug as you please! Well, well, a moonlight

night and the deck of a good ship, and a pair of young folk to profit by

it all--what more could one want?"

Mirko engaged him in conversation, and Ragna thus had time to steady her

voice and regain control over her excited nerves. The effort was good

for her, and she was glad of the Captain's arrival. So was the Prince,

for the good man's coming tided over an awkward moment, as the "voyage

de retour" is bound to be--however short the journey may have been.

"To-morrow, our journey together will be over," said the Captain.

"To-morrow morning you will wake at Christiansand, after that little

Ragna and I go on to Molde alone--if we pick up no other passengers. I

am sorry Your Highness leaves us so soon--if ever you should wish a

cruise in northern waters, the old _Norje_ and I are at your service,

Prince!"

"Thank you, Captain Petersen," said Mirko, "I have enjoyed this little

trip exceedingly, thanks to your kind attentions and to Mademoiselle,

and I wish I might promise to renew it in the near future--but I am not

entirely my own master, you know."

Presently the Captain remarked that it was growing late, and Ragna,

rising, said she would go to bed. The Captain wished her a hearty, if

gruff "Good-night," but Mirko walked with her to the companion-way, and

after kissing her hand, held it while he murmured in a low voice:

"You will never forget this evening, nor shall I--dear!"

With a final pressure he released her hand and Ragna went slowly down.

Captain Petersen grumbled to himself as he watched them.

"Pity the fellow is a Prince. Handsome couple they would make, handsome

couple! After all, who knows, little Ragna is as pretty as a

princess--he might do worse!"

Prince Mirko returned to him fumbling vainly in his pockets.

"Have you a match about you, Captain?" he asked, "I must have left my

box below."

On a former occasion he had offered the Captain a cigarette from his

case, but the old sea-dog had refused it, explaining that he would get

no good out of a little paper stick, a pipe was the thing for him.

The Captain produced a box of matches and the Prince lit his cigarette.

Seeing him disinclined for further conversation, the old sailor left

him, and Mirko, leaning both elbows on the rail enjoyed his smoke while

he reviewed the events of the evening. In his innermost heart he was a

little ashamed of having given way to an impulse but then, he reflected

complacently, there was no real harm done, and after all, what is a

kiss? He was rather amazed at himself for giving the slightest

importance to the occurrence. His thoughts turned again to Ragna.

"What a little witch it is, and as unsophisticated as a newborn babe;

pretty, too, much too pretty, in the moonlight!" The fresh taste of her

mouth came back to him, like a strawberry, just ripe, he thought, and

the throbbing of her firm young bosom, as he had pressed her to him.

What a mistress she would make! Then he laughed at himself--"What! take

a mistress, a mere school girl at that, from the bosom of a respectable

bourgeoise family! What a row there would be! No, my son," he admonished

himself, "that game is not worth the candle!" He remembered too well the

trouble subsequent to his latest escapade of the sort, and made a wry

face. "No, no more luring of innocent maidens from their happy homes!"

He thought of Ragna going to bed in her little cabin, and a wild desire

came over him to follow her. The recollection of the kiss he had given

her suddenly maddened him. His pulses beat strongly and rang in his

ears. He must have her, he felt, must have her in spite of everything

and he started towards the companion-way, but before he reached it shame

seized him, and thrusting his hands savagely into his greatcoat pockets

he strode up and down the deck, fighting the impulse.

"Am I lost to all sense of decency?" he murmured, "What has come over

me?"

He walked until he was tired out, then went below and locked himself

into his state-room.

* * * * *

Ragna, as soon as she reached her cabin, took down the oil lamp from its

swinging bracket and carrying it to the small mirror studied her face.

Was this creature with gleaming eyes, rosy cheeks, red mouth and

loosened hair the prim little Ragna of but a few hours since? This

looked more like the head of some young Bacchante, wine flushed and

triumphant. Indeed the "Princess" slept no longer, the spell was broken

and Ragna knew it. She replaced the lamp and undressed slowly, her

thoughts running tumultuous riot. She was astonished at finding herself

neither indignant nor ashamed--all that had passed. It seemed to her

that she had entered upon a new life, a door had opened upon a

heretofore unknown country, and many things came into perspective, that

she had not understood before. She had crossed the dividing line, she

was no longer a child, Eve had tasted of the apple.

As she lay in her berth some of the Prince's sayings came into her mind,

"an oasis in the desert," "there is no to-morrow and no yesterday," and

for the moment she hugged the thought, little dreaming how insidious it

was to prove. Who was to tell her that some day Eve's apple would prove

to be an Apple of Sodom? _Carpe diem_ was the Prince's avowed motto, and

was she already a convert and had she forgotten her own answer,

"Somebody has to bear the consequences"? She was too young though, to

realise that every act, no matter how insignificant, how detached

apparently from the main trend of life, has far-reaching consequences,

cropping out when we least expect them, bearing in their wake the most

extraordinary changes.

How was she to know that the kiss on deck in the moonlight bore in it

the seed of her future life. Her lips burned, and she felt, in

imagination, the pressure of Mirko's arms about her,--but at the same

time she was curiously conscious that this was not love, or not yet.

She felt, but could not define the distinction. Still she was not

ashamed, being still borne up by the wave of elemental impulse; she had

no room as yet for introspection and self blame--indeed they might never

come. The timid, untried girl of yesterday had vanished, a new,

passionate Ragna had taken her place.

CHAPTER V

Lars Andersen met his daughter at Molde. He seemed to have grown older,

and his face had a care-worn look. "The Grandmother was ill," he said;

"she had been ailing for some time, but now was bedfast and could not

live long."

Though he was truly glad to welcome Ragna home again, his

undemonstrative manner gave hardly a hint of it and the girl felt her

joy at seeing him effectually repressed and chilled.

At dinner with her father and the Captain she sat almost silent until

the old sailor rallied her on her dulness.

"You had more to say for yourself, Fröken, when the Prince was with us!"

"The Prince! What Prince?" asked Andersen.

"Prince Mirko of Montegria, who crossed with us from Hamburg to

Christiansand, on his way to the Court of Russia." The Captain went on

to give a roseate account of the Prince, his condescension, his

amiability, and wound up with:

"Little Ragna entertained him as though she had been a court-lady, and

you may well be proud of her!"

Andersen frowned; he knew more of men and of the ways of the world than

did the good Captain, who in many respects was but a grown-up child, and

he was displeased that his young and inexperienced daughter should have

been thrown into such companionship with a strange young man, prince or

no prince, as the Captain's account suggested.

Still, he did not wish to hurt the feelings of his old friend, and since

it was over and done with, the less said about the matter, the better.

Ragna, watching his face, guessed with newborn intuition the trend of

his thoughts, and with feminine diplomacy changed the subject, leading

the talk to her stay at the convent and entertaining the two men with a

lively account of the nuns, and of her school-fellows.

Her father studied her with a clearing face.

"What a child it still is," he thought, "this Prince Mirko nonsense has

rolled off her mind like water off a duck's back!" So he mused, and

putting aside his cares, encouraged her to continue her chatter. The

Captain was delighted to see his friend unbend, and joined his efforts

to Ragna's to keep the ball rolling.

So the evening passed merrily enough and it was not till the girl was

alone in her room that she let herself go. Rather scornfully she

thought:

"Oh, yes, they all think me a child! I am nearly nineteen, and they

think I have learned nothing but French verbs and embroidery. Well, let

them think it, better so! But if they knew, if they could guess!"

She shook out her long golden hair--it fell nearly to her knees--she

slipped out of her clothes and winding her long gauze scarf about her,

looked at herself in the glass, turning this way and that. Her body,

wonderfully white and firm had slight graceful curves like those of a

young nymph. She played with her hair, draping it about her shoulders

and bosom--truly this was a new Ragna! Then a sudden shame came over

her; she put on her nightgown, and blowing out the candle, plunged into

bed and lay blinking in the darkness. The thought she had had was not:

"I am beautiful," but "_He_ would think me beautiful."

"This must not go on," she said to herself. "You were a fool, Ragna, to

let him kiss you--you are a fool to think about him at all. Why can't

you let it be just an episode,--as he said? Of course he was only

playing with you. What do you suppose it meant to him to say a few

complimentary things to a little country girl--and kiss her?" But she

thought of the quiver in his deep voice, as he talked to her, on deck

that last evening, the passionate vibration of it that had fascinated

and stirred her, body and soul. She thought of his burning lips on hers

and his arms straining her to him so closely that it hurt her. No, in

that moment at least he had been sincere, he had loved her! The formal

leave-taking under the eyes of Angelescu and the Captain had meant

nothing. Oh! why could she not have been a princess--now she would never

see him again! Great tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down,

wetting her pillow, but she did not wipe them away. She was thinking how

dull it would be at home--how unendurable after this one brief glimpse

into the reality of life and emotion. Her innermost soul rebelled; she

threw out her arms, then strained them to her bosom.

"I want to live, to live, to live!" she cried to herself.

When she was calmer her clear mind reasserted its power as she reflected

that after all she was very young still, that the future might bring

much.

"It shall," she promised herself. "I will make it! I will not, I will

not be buried alive!"

She had not stopped to ask herself if she loved Prince Mirko; as a fact

she did not, but he had awakened her to life, he was identical to her

with Life and emotion. The mere fact of his being a stranger to her,

quite outside her limited field of experience, of his being a Prince

and heir to a throne, endowed him in her eyes with a halo of romance. In

default of a real hero, he would become her dream-hero, the axle round

which would revolve the wheel of her intimate thought.

In the morning, when dressed for the homeward journey, she joined her

father in the dining-room; she presented to his eyes the same innocently

childlike expression she had worn the evening before, and he kissed her

smooth brow, little dreaming of the thoughts which filled her head.

* * * * *

As they drew nearer home, and the familiar mountains, the Trolltinder

with its jagged crest, and oddly shaped Romser Horn, loomed up against

the sky, Ragna felt her spirits rising. The air was cool and crisp, the

little horse trotted briskly along, shaking his short stiff mane, the

meadows were carpeted with flowers: forget-me-nots, pansies, and the

purple swamp orchids, the pine-trees filled the air with balsam. It was

home, the country of her birth. They rounded the last turn in the long

road; the sun was setting and the long rays illuminated the summits of

the mountains which her childish imagination had peopled with gnomes and

trolls.

Now they were turning in at the wooden gateway--another few minutes and

there was the long low cinnamon-coloured house, smoke rising hospitably

from the chimneys, behind it the stables and sod-roofed cottages, and on

the steps stood a welcoming group, mother, the sisters. "Oh, how they

have grown," thought Ragna, "and there is Aunt Gitta too!" she cried.

Behind them stood the servants, smiling and excited.

Almost before the _stulkjarre_ had stopped, Ragna was out over the

wheel, embracing them all in turn, laughing and trying to answer a dozen

questions at once.

Fru Andersen held her daughter at arm's length, to see her better.

"It is my 'little' Ragna no longer," she wailed. "You are taller than I,

and you have changed, dear--you went away a child, you come back a

woman!"

Her husband interrupted her, calling for the servants to take in Ragna's

luggage, and the good woman's further comments, if there were any, were

lost in the bustle that ensued.

CHAPTER VI

The days that followed were occupied with filling in the gap of the past

two years. All had much to ask, and Ragna was kept busy answering their

questions. Fru Andersen and Fru Boyesen were most interested in the life

at the convent, and the latter especially examined Ragna thoroughly as

to the studies pursued and the accomplishments acquired.

The sisters, Lotte and Ingeborg, wished to hear about the Prince,--a

Prince being to them almost as mythical a being as the old gods they had

read of in their mythology; they imagined him robed in ermine, his manly

brow decorated by a coronet. They never tired of returning to the

subject, but were much disappointed by Ragna's matter of fact story, and

the Prince lost much of his prestige in their eyes when they learned

that he dressed and spoke like an ordinary mortal.

"And you talked to him just as if he were one of us?" asked Lotte in an

awe-struck voice. "You really did and you were not a bit scared, not one

bit?"

"Of course not, you silly little goose!" laughed Ragna, as if

conversation with princes were an everyday occurrence to her. She was

not above airing her recently acquired graces before these country mice.

"What did you say to him? What did he talk to you about?" chimed in

Ingeborg.

"Oh, about the weather and the gulls and the moon--anything."

"I don't call that very much," said Lotte, much disappointed. "I should

have thought you would talk about wars and court-balls, and things like

that."

"Oh, dear, no,--one doesn't talk about those things, it would seem

affected and silly."

"And didn't he make love to you? They always do in stories," queried

Lotte, then seeing her sister blush. "I believe he did--and you're too

mean to tell. What did you talk about anyway, that makes you blush like

that?" she added with a child's terrible perspicacity.

"I'm blushing at your curiosity, that's what I'm blushing at," returned

Ragna, angry at having betrayed herself. "And if you went to the Sisters

they'd tell you it was ill-bred to ask so many questions and pry into

what isn't your business!" Afraid of betraying herself further she got

up and left them.

The three girls had been sitting on a rock, not far from the house,

where they had long been accustomed to take their work on summer

afternoons. The younger girls stared at each other thunderstruck, as

Ragna walked away.

"Well," said Lotte, "it's rude to ask a civil question, and it's all

right to get up and go off in a temper. What is the matter with her

anyway? I'm sure I wish the old Prince had never spoken to her at all,

it has turned her head, being taken notice of, that's what it is!"

Ingeborg said nothing; she merely bit off her thread reflectively as she

followed Ragna's retreating figure with her eyes. Less impulsive than

Lotte, and endowed with a finer intuition, she felt that if Ragna were

keeping something from them it would be useless to try and drag it out

of her, and not only that, she realized as Lotte did not, that each of

us has his or her own little "Secret Garden," of memory and fancy, of

which no hand, however intimate, may open the gate. But vaguely

conscious of this, herself, she felt how useless it would be to explain

it to Lotte, whose frank curiosity knew no such restraint.

Lotte stitched on viciously, indignant at the snub she had received, and

giving vent to her feelings in intermittent monologue.

"She thinks us ninnies or children, that's what she does, but she's not

so awfully grown up, after all! She's not nineteen yet, and I'm sixteen,

and you're nearly fifteen. Oh, yes, we're not good enough for her

Ladyship to talk to; she's used to Princes and Kings and Popes, she is!

And she thinks she has come back to teach us her fine French manners!"

Ragna walked on, away from her sisters and away from the house. Her path

lay some way through the woods, then across two or three pastures and

out to a rocky point overlooking the fjord. She marched on, looking

neither to the right nor to the left, consumed with vexation for having

been so easily led on to retort. Of course Lotte had been annoying, but

she had always been a bundle of curiosity. And how sharp the child was!

"I must be a transparent fool," thought poor Ragna, "if any child can

see through me like that!"

As she crossed the third pasture someone hailed her; she looked up, and

saw, sitting on a rock under a tree, her Aunt Gitta, knitting

industriously, a sheaf of flowers lying on the ground beside her. Ragna

went to her, and she indicated a place on the boulder beside her.

"Sit down, Ragna," she said, "I have been wishing for a chance to talk

to you alone."

Ragna obediently seated herself, and drawing the flowers to her, began

sorting them and making them up into bouquets. Fru Boyesen coughed once

or twice, as though in doubt how to begin. She looked at her niece in a

tentative way, but the girl was seemingly intent on her flowers, and

gave no assistance.

Finally in a rather embarrassed manner, she began by asking Ragna what

she thought of doing.

"Doing, Aunt Gitta?" asked Ragna, lifting her head in surprise, "I had

not thought of doing anything!"

"Then your father has not told you?"

"He has told me nothing,--what is there to tell?"

"You have been away for two years, and I suppose no one wished to worry

you, but the fact is," Aunt Gitta lowered her voice as if about to

reveal some terrible secret,--and really, to her practical mind anything

connected with money-loss was terrible,--"the fact is that your father

has lost money in several ways and the estate is mortgaged!"

Ragna gazed at her with wide eyes; this explained then, her father's

anxious look, the small changes in the way of living, the

thread-bareness, slight as yet, of things in general. She had put it

down to the Grandmother's illness--but again that had not explained the

fewer horses in the stables and the simpler fare.

"Oh, poor father!" exclaimed Ragna.

"Oh, yes," said Fru Boyesen, "but it is partly his own fault; he would

not take my advice, he made some imprudent investments, and of course he

has had bad luck with the horses, this year of all years. Three good

foals lost, and Green Hunter broke his leg and had to be shot. But that

is not the point; it is this, when your Grandmother dies, and she cannot

live long, poor woman, her income goes with her, and what your father

and mother will do then, I do not know. Of course your father can't

afford to send Ingeborg and Lotte away to school as he has sent you--and

it is better for them that he can't, they can help at home and your

mother need keep fewer servants. Now as to you, you are of no earthly

use in the house, you know nothing about cheese and butter-making, nor

of practical housekeeping. Your fine embroidery and piano playing and

French and Italian won't help you here, and I know you don't want to be

a burden." She paused to wipe her glasses before turning the heel in her

stocking.

Ragna had listened to her, leaning her head on her hand and her elbow on

her knee, the flowers quite forgotten. Being so young she was rather

exhilarated than depressed by the implied suggestion that she must fend

for herself.

"Don't you think, Aunt Gitta, that I might teach?"

"Teach whom? Where? One, two, three, four, um-um,--Who wants to

learn,--five, six and seven,--French here? There now, I've lost count, I

must begin all over again! Don't interrupt me for five minutes."

Fru Boyesen said this intentionally in order to give Ragna time to take

the situation in. The girl knew that her Aunt was quite correct: who

indeed, out in the country would wish to learn anything she could teach?

When she was sure the five minutes were up, she spoke again, timidly.

"I meant in a town, Aunt Gitta, or I could be a governess."

"Teach in a town! Where are your certificates, my dear?"

It was true, of certificates Ragna had none but those of elementary

study. The convent gave no certificates. Her face fell.

"And as for governessing,--my niece a governess? An Andersen a

governess? Never."

"Well, then, Aunt Gitta, what can I do? You say yourself I can't live on

here and be a burden." She had reached the point her Aunt had meant her

to reach from the start.

"Listen, Ragna," she said kindly, "you know you have always been my

favourite niece, you are the one who takes most after our side of the

family. Now, my child, this is my proposition,"--she took Ragna's hand

and held it, with a fine disregard of her knitting. "My idea is this: I

have no children and I am often lonely in my house,--it is too large for

one woman. Now I think the best thing would be for you to come and live

with me. I should look after you and give you an allowance as if you

were my own daughter, and I should consider you as such.--No, don't

speak yet, let me finish. I have spoken of this plan to your parents; of

course they would rather keep you with them, but I pointed out to them

how foolish it would be to throw away such a chance for a purely

sentimental scruple. I said to them: 'The girl is grown, she is of no

use to you here, and she should marry--but who? With her new ideas she

won't take up with any man from these parts, she is not the kind of a

girl who can marry a farmer and be happy! With me she will have the

advantages of city life, and I shall keep my eye on her and her

chances.' So they said they would leave it to you; if you wish to go

with me, well and good,--if not, you may stay with them and weigh them

down!" She stopped, searching the girl's face, but Ragna did not answer

at once, nor jump at the proposition as the good lady had expected.

Indeed, Ragna was by no means sure of her own mind; but a few days

since, she had vowed that she would not submit to being buried alive,

and yet before this most unexpected chance of escape from the monotony

of country life she hesitated. An unaccountable repugnance to leaving

home again, seized her--perhaps the mere spirit of contradiction called

up by her Aunt's certainty as to her answer. Besides it seemed to her

like a sort of treachery, an evidence of moral cowardice, to desert her

parents at this juncture. But then, as her Aunt had said, what could she

do to help them, at home? Nothing. On the other hand, if she accepted

her Aunt's offer, and the arrangement proved impossible, she would be

better situated to find employment in a city like Christiania. She knew

Fru Boyesen's determined character, her love of ordering the lives of

others, and doubted if life with her would be bearable for long. If it

were not for that! Then she reproached herself for ingratitude--was this

the way to receive such a generous offer?

"Well?" asked Fru Boyesen.

"Aunt Gitta," said Ragna slowly, choosing her words, "it is very, very

good of you to want me, and if Father and Mother tell me they do not

need me, I shall be glad to accept your offer."

"Well then, that's settled," said her Aunt cheerfully, "only you don't

seem as pleased as you might. It's not every girl has such chances come

her way, let me tell you!"

The girl leaned forward impulsively and kissed her Aunt who returned

the embrace amply, and they sat in silence for a short time, until Fru

Boyesen's lively tongue got the better of her. She launched into a

lengthy description of her life in Christiania and of the neighbours and

friends, but Ragna heard little; her thoughts were busy with the new

life opening before her, as she mechanically finished tying up the

flowers. As in a dream she heard fragments,--details of Fru Hendersen's

illness that had puzzled all the doctors, and why the Klaad girls wore

blue stockings with all their frocks, and how much Ole Bjornsten had

paid for his new carriage--"Most extravagant I call it,"--till her Aunt

finally shook out her completed stocking and rose, brushing the moss

from her skirts.

"You are a good girl, Ragna," she said commendingly, "and you have

learned to talk quite interestingly."

Ragna smiled but made no comment, so they wended their way home, Aunt

Gitta looming up large in front, her skirts held high displaying a

well-filled pair of worsted stockings--she boasted of always knitting

her own,--ending in stout elastic-sided boots. Ragna followed her,

outwardly meek, but inwardly convulsed with her relative's appearance,

and wondering what would happen, should the bull have been in his usual

pasture, for the good lady confessed to a taste for bright colours and

affected a cathedral-window style of dress, and the combination she had

evolved to-day was wonderful to behold. Her dress was of royal purple,

over which miniature rising suns made splotches of white, her bonnet was

a deep, rich blue, while a small scarlet shawl decorated her portly

shoulders.

"I hope to goodness she won't try to dress me in her own style!" thought

Ragna.

As they neared the house it was evident that something had happened;

there was a confusion of people rushing to and fro and a servant was

officiously closing the shutters of the upper rooms.

Ingeborg, standing in the doorway flew to meet them as they reached the

gate.

"Oh, Aunt Gitta! Oh, Ragna!" she exclaimed in a loud hoarse whisper,

looking at the same time frightened and important. "I've been looking

for you everywhere! It happened an hour ago, and where you've ever

been--"

Fru Boyesen took the girl by the shoulders and shook her.

"What is it? Can't you speak out? Don't beat about the bush like a

fool!"

"Grandmother's dead" said the child, boldly, and burst into tears.

Fru Boyesen pushed her aside and ran into the house and up to her

mother's room. It was as Ingeborg had said, the old woman had quietly

passed away. Her daughter-in-law, sitting in the room, had not seen when

it happened,--she only noticed after a time that the place seemed

unusually silent, as when a clock in a living-room stops its ticking,

and going over to the bed, she saw that the old woman was no longer

breathing. She felt for a pulse in vain, and a mirror held to the mouth

remained unclouded, so she had drawn the sheet up over the still, white

face and called the family.

Ragna and Ingeborg followed their Aunt up the stairs and into the room.

Lars Andersen stood by the bed, holding the dead woman's hand; his

sister had thrown herself upon her knees beside him; at the foot of the

bed stood Lotte and her mother, and by them Ragna took her place.

Ingeborg stopped in the doorway, sobbing loudly with hysterical

excitement, and also with honest grief, for she sincerely loved her

grandmother. Lars Andersen turned in his place and in a low, stern voice

reprimanded her.

"Stop that boisterous sobbing, Ingeborg! I am ashamed of you! Go to your

room until you can control yourself!"

Ragna quietly slipped out and led the weeping child away--none of the

others had even turned a head.

"Oh, Ragna," sobbed Ingeborg, as they reached the little room with its

dormer window, "isn't it dreadful? Only this morning I was sitting with

her and she said the knitting hurt her eyes, and she would finish it

to-morrow--and it was for me--and now she is de-e-ad--" her voice rose

in a wail.

Ragna took her into her arms, and sitting down, drew her on her knees.

"Oh, Ingeborg," she said, "you mustn't cry so, indeed you mustn't! We

ought to be glad she died peacefully like that. Of course it would have

been awful if it had happened when you were alone with her this

morning."

"It isn't that, it isn't that at all," said Ingeborg, in an awed voice.

"It's just dreadful that she should have been alive like you or me only

an hour ago,--and now she is dead like a light when it is blown out. She

was here and now she is gone--she's nowhere!"

"Oh, Ingeborg, you shouldn't talk like that!" cried Ragna, shocked. "Her

soul has gone to God in Heaven!"

"Do you really believe that, Ragna?" asked the child. "I don't,--I don't

care what they say. When Balke, my dog, died, I wanted to bury him and

put up a tombstone, but the Pastor wouldn't let me; he said animals

have no souls and Christian burial is only for people. Balke knew lots

more than ever so many people; he had a great deal more soul than a

baby. When do babies get their souls? I know they don't have them when

they are born, they're too stupid,--and so when do they get them? I said

if Balke wouldn't go to Heaven I didn't believe there was one at all, so

there!"

She sat up with flushed face and looked at her sister defiantly.

Ragna did not know what to answer; she had never seriously questioned

any religious doctrine that had been taught her and Ingeborg's revolt

both shocked her and found her unprepared.

"Aren't you ashamed to talk like that, Ingeborg Andersen?" she said

indignantly. "Of course there is a Heaven and a Hell, and perhaps good

dogs have a Heaven of their own--I don't know! If there is one, I'm sure

Balke went there," she ended lamely.

Ingeborg was watching her with curious unchildlike eyes.

"You don't believe in Heaven any more than I do," she asserted. "If you

did you'd talk about it differently. People have told you things and you

have just gone on believing them to save yourself the trouble of

thinking."

She slipped from Ragna's knees and crossed to the window, where she

stood looking out; she left her sister thunderstruck. The child had

spoken the truth--but how had she known, by what intuition had she

understood? Ragna went over to her, and putting an arm about her, stood

some minutes in silence before she asked:

"What made you say that, Ingeborg?"

"I don't know, but it is so and you can't deny it. Oh, I often know

what people think about when they don't know themselves, and I often

know, too, what is going to happen to people. Grandmother told me I was

fey; you see I'm the youngest and I'm the seventh daughter and so was

mother, and those people always are, Grandmother said so."

"How can you know? What do you do?"

"Oh, nothing, I just look into people's eyes, and sometimes I see

things, and sometimes I don't."

"Can you tell me what will happen to me?" asked Ragna in a low voice.

Ingeborg turned and looked long into her sister's eyes. The sun had sunk

below the mountains and a cool grey light pervaded the place. She stood

motionless a long time, then she passed her hand over her forehead and

half turned away.

"I don't want to tell you, Ragna," she said.

But Ragna insisted, she would know, she was not superstitious; she only

wanted to see if it would come true.

"It will come true--it always does," said Ingeborg sadly.

"Then tell me, I'm not afraid."

Ingeborg hesitated, then seeing that Ragna was in earnest:

"I will tell some of it, but I do not see very clearly. You are going

away, to begin with, I see you with Aunt Gitta and there are many people

but their faces are shadows. Then you go away farther still, where the

sun is hot--it dazzles you, and there is a man--or is it a greyhound?"

Ragna started. "Yes, it is a man, but there is a greyhound and a hare

and some stone arches, and you are very sad after that, Ragna. But the

man goes away and there is another man with eyes like coals, and he

hates you--he puts chains on you, and you can't break them, and you

never come home any more--" Her voice died away.

Ragna stood spellbound: a greyhound and a hare--her dream! And the rest,

the chains, the man with the burning eyes! She shivered; it was as

though the shadow of a dark wing had passed over her, her flesh crept.

Neither spoke for some time; it grew darker.

A maidservant entered the room with a light. Ragna shook herself to

throw off the incubus. The maid began to speak of the Grandmother, of

how good she had been, and the girls looked at one another ashamed--they

had quite forgotten it all for the moment.

"Come, Ingeborg," said Ragna, "let us go down again." Hand in hand they

descended the stair.

CHAPTER VII

The funeral was set for the day week and the intervening time seemed

interminable, at least to the younger members of the family. Fru Boyesen

was invaluable; her practical good sense which not even grief could

impair, employed itself in arranging the thousand and one details

incident to a death.

Ragna took her turn with her elders in watching at night in the

death-chamber. She had begged to do it and had obtained permission, but

when the night came and she was left alone in the terrible silent room,

a single candle burning on the table beside her, casting grotesque and

fitful shadows over the motionless form on the bed, and over the walls,

a kind of panic seized her. She wished she had not persisted in

obtaining the vigil. It was horribly lonely, more so than she could have

imagined by day. She could hear the ticking of the tall clock on the

landing outside the door; no other sound came from the sleeping

house--it was like sitting in a funeral vault she thought. An owl was

hooting dismally in a tree far off and the mournful noise had an uncanny

sound in the pervading stillness. The window was partly open and

occasionally a puff of air would make the candle gutter, and then the

shadows moved and took on unearthly shapes.

Ragna tried to keep her mind on the book her mother had left with her,

but without avail; her mind would wander, and her eyes turned

continually to the bed in the corner--it was as though the dead woman

called her, requiring insistently her whole attention. She was a healthy

girl, not in the least morbid, but the stillness, the tension wore on

her nerves until the strain became unbearable. She looked uneasily to

right and left and over her shoulder as though she expected to see

strange and grisly shapes emerging from the shadows. A kind of panic

seized her; she felt as if she must scream. A terrible unreasoning fear

overcame her, the horror of the presence of the dead body submerged her

spirit, a curious stiffness possessed her limbs and seemed to bind her

to her chair; she felt the roots of her hair crawl, and her fingers

worked convulsively. The book she had been reading dropped to the floor

with a bang. The noise broke the spell and she gave a long shuddering

sigh; she raised her hand to her forehead and was surprised to find it

wet.

"This will never do," she said to herself resolutely, and rising, she

went to the window. There was no moon, but everything showed clearly in

the light northern night. The trees near the house rose in a dark

stippled mass against the sky. Everything was peaceful and quiet, only

the drowsy twittering of birds broke the silence from time to time; the

owl had gone. Ragna stood at the window breathing the chill night air

and let the peace of the night sink into her soul. When she was quite

calm she closed the window and taking the candle walked resolutely over

to the bed and stood there, looking. The face of the dead woman wore an

expression of ineffable peace--a repose almost inhuman in its

detachment. Her white hair was brushed in smooth bandeaux over her brow,

her features, ashy grey with violet shadows, appeared almost unreal, as

though carved in some strange alabaster. Her hands, waxen and stiff

with bluish nails lay folded on her bosom. The flickering light of the

candle lent no semblance of life. Ingeborg's words came to Ragna's mind.

Where indeed was the spirit that had animated this clay? And to the

question she found no answer. In the actual presence of death the

formally taught maxims regarding a future life--a life of reward and

punishment--fell to the ground; the flimsiness of all speculation on the

Life hereafter appeared naked to the girl's eyes.

"No one can know, no one can tell," she thought, "it is a mystery, but

at least one may find peace--she has found peace!" She stooped and

reverently kissed her grandmother's cold hands, then she returned to her

seat.

The moment had been a crucial one, for in that instant of putting her

conventional belief to the touchstone of reality, it had failed and she

recognized the fact; the bed-rock on which her childish faith had been

built fell from beneath her feet, for, if she lost her belief in part,

disbelief in all must follow. A chain is no stronger than its weakest

link, but the weak link in her chain was not, as she thought, the

insufficient grounds for belief, rather the formality of her teaching;

to her the "letter which killeth" had indeed become dead, and of the

"Spirit which giveth light" she knew as yet nothing. This one thing she

knew, that never again should she be afraid of the dead or of death. "It

is peace," she said to herself softly, "it is like sleep when one is

very, very tired."

When morning had come and they relieved her at her post, she walked out

to the high rocky promontory from which she could see the sea. The day

was still young and the grass and bushes were covered with dewdrops.

Ragna gathered a handful of flowers as she went and pressed their wet

freshness to her face. She felt grave and old; the bright sunlight

seemed like an insult in the fact of the long night and the silent

darkened room. She seated herself on a grey lichen-covered boulder

overlooking the water. The fjord was like glass, as far as the eye could

reach and it reflected the surrounding mountains like a mirror; to her

tired eyes it was unreal, like a pictured scene. As she sat there, a

breeze sprang up and tiny ripples ruffled the surface of the water,

spreading from shore to shore. The reflections of tree and crag shivered

into a thousand fragments. Up the bay a boat was putting out from the

little village. Ragna idly watched the rise and fall of the oars. A girl

was rowing, swaying to the rhythm of the stroke; she was standing and

her red bodice stood out against the background, a vivid patch of

colour. She was singing and her clear voice rose in plaintive minor

notes. Smoke began to rise from the village chimneys, and a dog barked.

It was Life going on, taking no heed of those who fall by the wayside,

Life, the cruel Wheel, crushing the weak, casting to one side those who

would clog the onward march--life, the Life of the world to whom the

individual existence, the individual pain and strife are of no

importance; life continuing the same throughout the ages, no matter who

dies, no matter who suffers.

"The mountains do not change, nor the sky, no matter who comes or goes,"

thought Ragna, "and everything goes on just the same, no one is

necessary, continuity is everything. If we suffer, if we die, what does

it matter? I shall die, we shall all die, and in a few years it will

make no difference to anyone; there is no real change, only people come

and go. That is the real eternity--just the same old round, over and

over again, and on forever." She sat a long time, her chin supported in

her palms, her eyes, steel blue, gazing out steadily over the New World

made manifest to her.

In after years she often thought of the hours spent there by the fjord

in the early morning, and the memory nearly always brought peace to her

heart. Her own troubles seemed so trivial, so transient in comparison

with the age old changelessness of life, her own life and destiny so

unimportant in the endless chain of humanity.

CHAPTER VIII

When all was over, Ragna accompanied her aunt to Christiania. She was

given a comfortable room on the first floor and soon settled into the

pleasant regularity of the household. It was very quiet--there could be

no entertaining until the period of mourning should be over--but

intimate friends often came in the afternoon and evening, and very

pleasant circles formed about the cheerful lamp. Fru Bjork was a

frequent visitor and made much of Ragna. The girl had taken her fancy

when they had journeyed to Paris together and moreover she was convinced

that the friendship of a serious-minded girl like Ragna was excellent

for Astrid. The girls kept up a lively correspondence and in a few

months Astrid would be coming home. Ragna looked forward to her coming

with some impatience; though they had actually but little in common,

there was at least the mutual experience of school-life, and since

Ragna's awakening experience, much that had been incomprehensible to her

in Astrid's nature now became clear.

"She knew more than I did about things--and I was proud of my

ignorance," she reflected. She was as yet unable to realize the

difference between Astrid's shallow feminine coquetry and her own

awakening consciousness of womanhood.

Fru Boyesen and Fru Bjork had been schoolmates and although differing as

to character, were excellent friends, owing to the ties of life-long

association and a common point-of-view in social matters. Each of the

ladies entertained a tolerant pity for the foibles of the other, which

is perhaps the most comfortable _modus vivendi_ to be found.

Ragna's time was well occupied. By her own wish she continued her

studies under the best professors obtainable--that part was Aunt Gitta's

doing. Literature interested her more than anything else and after a

time she was encouraged to try her hand at writing a series of short

essays. To her great delight a well-known review accepted them, and this

materially affected her relations with her aunt. The good lady had

heretofore regarded her as a child to be exhaustively directed and

controlled, but a niece whose writings were published was quite a

different person in her estimation. In common with many people of

prosaic mind she had a genuine respect for intellectual attainments,

therefore, Ragna was promoted to a position of semi-independence, her

working hours were held sacred, and to give her more time for her

literary pursuits such household tasks as had fallen to her share were

removed as incompatible. This was a mistake, for the homely work would

have been a wholesome antidote to the romantic trend of the girl's mind.

Withdrawn from the ordinary business of the house, she lived an unreal

life made up of fanciful imaginings which her philosophical and literary

studies were unable to counteract. She had no experience of actualities

to control and place in their proper perspective the various social and

philosophical theories which formed the greater part of her reading.

Consequently with nothing to counter-balance the paramount influence of

the moment, she swayed to the mental attitude of whatever author she

happened to be reading, being in turn, or imagining herself a

Swedenborgian, an agnostic, an atheist, and a mystic.

She was cynical with Voltaire and romantic with Byron and De Musset. For

a considerable period the "categorical imperative" haunted her days and

nights, and during three months at least. "Also sprach Zarathustra" was

the sun whose rising and setting determined her getting up and her

sitting down. But Nietsche did not last long; his doctrine was too

foreign to her nature and she returned to Kant as to an old friend.

Fru Boyesen was not a little worried by these moral and spiritual

waverings, but never having known anything of the kind herself, was

unable to cope with the case. She took a purely material view of the

situation. They were now out of mourning, but Ragna seemed to have

little taste for society in general, and none for that of young men; she

preferred her books, she said, when her aunt rallied her on the subject.

Now Fru Boyesen had been at some pains to obtain for her niece a circle

of eligible masculine acquaintances; she had made it known that she

considered the girl as her adopted daughter and would make her her

heiress, and there was no lack of eligible suitors; so when Ragna had

sent two of the most desirable firmly but kindly about their business

with no better excuse than that they did not happen to be congenial to

her, her aunt felt that it was time to interfere.

She would have considered either of them a most desirable husband for

her niece--was not young Nansen tall and handsome as well as the only

son of wealthy parents? And was not Peter Näss a most estimable young

man and well situated to make a wife comfortable and happy? What was

Ragna waiting for? A white blackbird?

Ragna threw her arms about her aunt's neck.

"Dear Aunt Gitta, I am so happy with you! I don't want to marry ever, I

think!"

"Not want to marry, child? You are crazy! It is a woman's duty to marry

and rear children--the Bible says so. Perhaps you think you are in love

with some other young man?"

No, Ragna was in love with no one.

"Well then, why did you refuse Ole Nansen?"

"Because I did not love him."

"Oh, stuff and nonsense! Not love him! Very probably you don't, but that

is not essential, not one woman in a hundred 'loves' her husband until

after she has married him. The important part is that everything else

should be suitable. There's nothing you dislike in him, is there?"

"No, Auntie."

Fru Boyesen raised her eyes to Heaven.

"Well, all I can say is, you'll never get such a chance again; young

Nansen is a man in a thousand."

"Are you so anxious to be rid of me, Auntie dear?"

"No, of course not, goosie," she kissed the girl affectionately, "but I

should like to see you married, in a home of your own. It would be much

better for you, I am sure. I don't really approve of this one-sided life

you are leading."

"But, Auntie dear, how could I marry a man who takes no interest in my

work? These young men are very nice and all that, but we have absolutely

nothing in common. I asked Peter Näss the other day what he thought of

the Kantian philosophy, and he said he had never thought about it at

all. These young men never like to talk about serious subjects and they

refuse to take me seriously when I do."

"Ah, Ragna," said the elder woman, "when you have a home and children to

look after, you will find that all your philosophy goes to the wall."

"But that is just what I am afraid of, why should I stifle all my higher

instincts in a commonplace marriage?"

She had not told her aunt, however, what was the real matter with her.

The fact was that try as she might, she could not rid herself of the

memory of Prince Mirko and that moonlit crossing of the North Sea. His

kiss remained imprinted on her lips and his idealized image on her

heart. She mentally compared with him the young men of her acquaintance

and weighing them in the balance, found them woefully wanting.

One evening, sitting alone with her in the drawing-room, young Nansen

had kissed her--the effect had been electrical. Furiously rubbing her

offended cheek, she had reprimanded him in such terms of withering scorn

that the poor young man fled, never to call again. Afterwards she was

ashamed of her outburst, and analysing her feelings, as she had come to

do, was obliged to admit to herself that the cause of her resentment was

not the temerity of her suitor, but the fact that he had failed to awake

in her an answering thrill. She liked the young man, and her vanity

would have been pleased by the marriage, for he was the best "parti" in

Christiania, but her conscious womanhood revolted at a loveless union.

Was the shadow of a kiss to spoil her life? In vain she reasoned with

herself, the unconquerable memory remained; she felt it like an

indelible mark on her.

Fru Boyesen in despair at her niece's obstinacy and foolishness, and

after many fruitless attempts to bring the girl round to her point of

view, finally betook herself to Ragna's old professor, Dr. Tommsen. She

laid the case before him and begged him to use his influence with his

wayward pupil--she would surely listen to him.

Dr. Tommsen had received Fru Boyesen in his study. He sat, in an old

leather-covered armchair between the porcelain stove where a fire was

burning, and his large, much belittered writing table, gazing at his

visitor in good-humoured perplexity and twiddling his thumbs--a habit of

his when not engaged in writing or reading. His spectacles were pushed

up on his bulging forehead and his keen grey eyes peered out from under

shaggy, grizzled eyebrows, which he had a habit of working up and down

in a terrifying manner. His sanctum was not often invaded by ladies, and

the presence of a portly dame arrayed in green silk trimmed with bugles

and yellow lace and protected by a dead-leaf mantle, and the singularity

of her coming to him, a bachelor of well-known eccentricity, in order

that her niece should be prevailed upon to enter the bonds of matrimony,

appealed to his sense of humour.

Therefore, when Fru Boyesen had finished her elaborate exposition of the

case, the Doctor pursed up his lips and his eyes twinkled.

"My dear Madam," he said, "I fail to see how I can be of any assistance

to you, I have so little experience in these matters."

"You could advise Ragna, my dear Herr Doctor--she would listen to you.

She must be persuaded to take a reasonable view of life."

"Ah, that depends on what one considers a reasonable view," he said

judicially, putting the tips of his fingers together. "From my

standpoint your niece's objections appear quite reasonable. You may not

be aware, my dear lady, though most people are, that theoretically I

disapprove of marriage."

"Disapprove of marriage! Oh, Herr Doctor, you can't mean that!" cried

Fru Boyesen horrified, feeling the solid ground slipping from beneath

her feet, as it were.

"Precisely, Madam--or to be more exact, I disapprove of marriage as now

generally practised. I regard it as a social contract, useful to

humanity in general, since no better substitute has been found as yet,

but I certainly do not consider it an ideal state, and it would be

against my avowed principles to urge any young person--much more so one

of the 'élite,' among whom I place Ragna--to enter upon a form of

contract which I personally consider both futile and degrading--an

insult to the intelligence."

This was too much for Fru Boyesen; she gasped angrily, but found herself

unable to give articulate utterance to her amazement and indignation.

The Professor, his eyes twinkling more and more, pursued in a calm

deliberate voice.

"Since you do not answer, I take it that you agree with me in the

main--or perhaps your estimation of your niece is not the same as mine?"

"I most certainly do not agree with you, Dr. Tommsen," said Fru Boyesen

hotly; "I am a married woman myself, and a respectable one, and I assure

you I have found nothing either degrading or futile in the married

state. I do not think you should use such words in connection with a

divine institution."

"Ah, that is where we differ, dear Madam," returned the Professor,

gently rubbing his palms together--it amused him on occasions to tease

the conventionally-minded--"You consider it a divine institution and I

do not--however that is not the point. I admit that some persons are

obviously qualified for matrimony and find their vocation in it--you

think your niece to be one of those, I do not."

Fru Boyesen interrupted him.

"But there is where you are wrong, Herr Doctor. Ragna is made for

marriage, trust an old woman for that. She is not the girl to be an old

maid. I am anxious for that reason--if she lets her best years go by and

despises the chances that offer, she will regret it when it is too late.

I love her, Herr Doctor, and old women see farther than young ones--I

want to see her happy in the way that God intended her to be."

"Then for God's sake leave her alone, Madam, leave her to God. If you

are right about her, and she does marry, let it be at her own time and

by her own choice; nothing but harm can come of forcing her inclinations

in any way."

"But, Doctor, she has already refused two of the most eligible--I think

it a poor return after all I have done for her--"

"Let her refuse ten, let her refuse twenty! To show her gratitude must

she sell her body to the highest bidder?"

Fru Boyesen bounded rather than rose from her chair; the very ribbons on

her bonnet bristled with indignation. Her back was a study in outraged

virtue as she moved majestically towards the door. The doctor was before

her.

"One moment, Madam, I beg!"

"I have heard quite enough, more than enough," she said in a frozen

voice.

"My dear lady, I beg your pardon if my words were too forcible; what I

intended to say was that should your niece marry a man for his

position, without love for him, it would be equivalent to selling

herself, and you who have her ultimate happiness at heart would not wish

that, I am sure." He smiled, and he had a most winning smile. "My dear

Fru Boyesen, you come to discuss this matter with me; I am an old man,

you are a widow, why should we mince matters?"

His tone, grave and kindly, mollified her somewhat: she wavered an

instant, and answered.

"It shocked me that you could speak of my niece's selling herself--an

honourable marriage--"

"Just so, Madam, an 'honourably' married woman who does not love her

husband and has not loved him, who has married him because he is wealthy

or of good family--" he deliberately brought his argument within the

range of her comprehension--"is lower in my eyes than the woman who

gives herself for love only, dispensing with ceremony, or who sells

herself for hire, to get her bread."

Fru Boyesen gasped with horror.

"Society!" she murmured, "religion! morality!"

"Society, indeed, dear lady, but neither religion nor morality as I

understand them."

Fru Boyesen was in deep waters, her argumentative powers were not

sufficient to cope with the Doctor, and she knew it, still she tried

once more.

"But Herr Doctor, I don't want her to marry without love, I only want

her to make up her mind to love a man she can marry--and do it soon!"

The Doctor rubbed his hands. He had not been able to resist the

temptation of shocking the good lady; he was often tempted to jolt a

bourgeois mind out of its self-complacent rut. Fru Boyesen's bewildered

and horrified face had amused him intensely, but he realized that to

push the matter further might seriously harm Ragna's cause, so he

contented himself with replying:

"I am sure, Madam, that your niece will not disappoint you in the end;

but if you really desire her welfare, do not urge the matter for the

present, I beg of you. Give the child time--that is a panacea for all

ills, you know. She is very young, and should she marry merely to please

you, her inevitable unhappiness would be heavy on your conscience."

Fru Boyesen retied her bonnet strings but with less firm a touch than

usual. The Professor had frightened her and, for the moment, shaken her

conventional social beliefs; however, she made a last tentative effort.

"Then I am to understand that you positively refuse to use your

influence, Herr Doctor?"

"Most decidedly, Madam--and as you value your future peace of mind and

Ragna's, do not attempt to force her."

"And you advise me to do nothing, to wait?"

"Why not try a change of scene? A journey would probably drive some of

the 'ologies' and 'isms' you object to out of her mind, and she would

very likely come home prepared to settle down."

Fru Boyesen sighed. She was not satisfied with the result of the

interview--it had been so different from what she had expected. She took

her leave, thinking to herself, "Poor man, one can see that he doesn't

know much of the practical side of life! How could he, being a

bachelor?"

Doctor Tommsen, watching her substantial figure retreat down the street,

drummed on the window and said to himself:

"What fools these women are! And the old ones who ought to know better

are always trying to drag the girls into the same miserable mistakes

they have made themselves." He was sorry for Ragna--"They will probably

end by making a fool of her too, one girl can't stand out against the

whole State of Society!"

CHAPTER IX

Fru Boyesen went to Fru Bjork for consolation and over a cup of coffee

discussed the Doctor's refusal.

Fru Bjork was more at a loss than her friend to understand Ragna's

indifference to the advantages of the married state, and she held up her

hands in horror at Fru Boyesen's account of Dr. Tommsen's speeches--it

may be said that they lost nothing in the telling. Sentence by sentence

she repeated them, punctuating them with indignant sniffs, and

appreciative sips at her cup.

Fru Bjork listened, her fat hands clasped on her rotund person, her cap

awry over her kindly face, her eyes wide and round with dismay.

"He says," stated Fru Boyesen, "that we respectable married women sell

ourselves for hire like the women on the streets. He says that marriage

is immoral and irreligious."

"Perhaps," said Fru Bjork, "he is a believer in free love. Try a little

of this seed-cake, my dear, I made it myself."

Fru Boyesen helped herself and continued, her mouth half-full,

"He must be,--anyway he is outrageous, and it's no longer a mystery to

me where Ragna gets her absurd ideas from. If I'd known what sort of a

man he was, I never should have let her study under him. But his name is

so well known! He is so universally respected! I don't understand it at

all!"

Fru Bjork agreed with her--she had the amiable habit of agreeing with

everyone, it saved so much trouble, and Fru Boyesen went on to recount

the rest of the interview. Fru Bjork approved of the suggestion of

sending Ragna away for a time.

"Travelling is good for young girls," she opined, "it takes the nonsense

out of them and when they have seen how things are done in other

countries, they are ready enough to settle down in their own."

Astrid had returned home some months before, and was a great favourite

among the young people. Her vivacity and ready, if rather shallow wit,

her delicate almost affected prettiness, her coquettishness attracted

the young men and her good humour and readiness to oblige made her

friends among the girls. It was natural for her to try to please

everyone, and she exercised her blandishments on all who came near her,

from the servants in the house, to the most important personages of her

social world. She was quite sincere in her desire to please; approbation

was the meat and drink of her existence. She admired Ragna and rather

stood in awe of her attainments, but could not understand her

indifference to social pleasures. Ragna had not cared to tell her more

than the barest outline of the momentous home journey, and if she had,

Astrid would not have understood, for constancy to a dream-memory could

form no part of her spiritual make-up. She was not one to whom any

impression would be lasting; to her, lovers might come and go as

butterflies to a flower,--to all she would give of her smiles, but no

one of them would leave a mark on her soul. Fidelity, to her, would mean

the imposed constraint of public opinion, not the keeping of herself to

one, and one only. She wished to marry, and to marry well,--all things

considered, one man is very like another, when it comes to matrimony,

she thought.

Innumerable times she had fancied herself in love, and each time she had

gone to Ragna with the tale of her infatuation. After the first time or

two, when she had taken the affair seriously, Ragna would listen with an

amused smile,--it was always the same story over again,--and she ceased

to be surprised, when a few days or weeks later, the Star waned and a

new luminary rose above the horizon. Astrid had once said to her:

"One starts out with the idea that men are all different, but when they

have kissed you, you know they are all alike--if one could not see, one

would swear it was always the same man." Ragna had with difficulty

repressed her impulse to protest, "but what's the use?" she thought, and

wisely kept her own counsel.

Finally Astrid had announced her engagement, much to her own

satisfaction. It was an excellent match and her mother was pleased; she

stipulated, however, for a year's delay before the marriage, as Astrid

was barely twenty, and far from strong.

Fru Bjork, then, on the strength of her daughter's conventional social

success, felt herself complacently superior to Fru Boyesen, in the way

that an ordinary hen would feel herself comfortably above one who had

hatched ducklings. She could not but gloat a little over her friend's

discomfiture before she presented a proposition of her own; she

therefore remained silent a few minutes and pressed Fru Boyesen's hand

sympathetically.

Fru Boyesen, who in ordinary circumstances would have resented anything

savouring of commiseration, but who felt too perplexed to think of

anything beyond her present difficulty, presently afforded an opening,

by remarking that though a few months abroad would probably benefit

Ragna and bring her to a more reasonable frame of mind, yet the thing

was impossible; who was there to take her? Fru Boyesen herself had no

desire to set forth on a journey, too many interests and occupations

kept her at home.

Fru Bjork then suggested that Ragna be entrusted to her care.

"I have been thinking," she said, "of taking Astrid to spend the winter

in Italy. The doctor advises it--she is just a little delicate, you

know,--and why should not Ragna come too? She would be company for

Astrid and such a serious, steady girl as she is would give me no

trouble--I should enjoy having her with me."

Fru Boyesen, secretly much pleased by her friend's proposition, would

not seem to seize upon it at once; she agreed to think it over, and the

ladies parted on that understanding.

CHAPTER X

Ragna was now almost twenty-one; she had slightly matured in appearance,

the curves of her figure were rounder and fuller, but her eyes still had

the expression of the idealist, the visionary; she was as prone as ever

to credulity, to taking those with whom she came in contact at their own

valuation.

She had resolutely tried to put the Prince Mirko episode out of her

mind, but with slight success. She had locked Angelescu's sketch of him

away in her writing-case, and rarely allowed herself to look at it, but

she knew it was there, she felt its occult presence as at times she

still felt the presence of Mirko's lips on hers. When, by chance, she

came upon his name in the newspapers the blood would rush to her heart.

Once an illustrated journal had published a portrait of him, accompanied

by a short biographical sketch, and she cut the page out, and laid it

away with her sketch. She had never heard from her dream-hero directly,

but each New Year's day brought her a card from Count Angelescu--He, at

least, still remembered her!

She was at a loss to explain the restlessness that often possessed her.

More often than she dared confess to herself, her work and her studies

bored her; in vain did she try to throw herself entirely into her

serious occupations; emptiness, the vanity of it all, would in spite of

her efforts, rise up and confront her.

The truth was, her physical nature was awake and clamouring for

satisfaction, and the difficulty lay in the fact that having tasted the

caviare of the sophisticated passion of a Don Juan, she could not

content herself with the bread-and-butter of a calm, everyday affection.

Had she never been awakened, even if but partially, to the possibilities

of the latent passion within her, her life would have been calmer, less

eventful and happier--if happiness lie in the absence of upheaving

emotion. Requiring less of life she would have been more easily

satisfied, or would have imagined herself so. The narrow boundaries of

conventional contentment would have shut out the larger horizon of

emotional experience, pain and soul discipline. She would have remained

iron, Destiny was to make her steel tempered by fire.

She was writing in the living-room when her Aunt came in. The

comfortable room, with its low-raftered ceiling and large porcelain

stove looked very cheerful in the glow of the lamp. The heavy red

curtains were drawn across the windows, and the red table-cloth threw a

rosy reflection on the girl's face, as she leaned over her work. Her

hair was like live gold in the strong light of the hanging lamp.

Fru Boyesen came in and seated herself heavily in an upholstered

armchair. Ragna had raised her head on her Aunt's entrance but had not

interrupted her writing. Her Aunt scanned her closely; she had come to

look upon the girl as her own; she enjoyed her presence in the house,

and it was her proprietary feeling that was mortified by the girl's

failure to take advantage of the opportunities offered her. Astrid's

engagement, especially, rankled in the good woman's mind. Here was a

girl not as pretty, not as clever as Ragna, and several months younger,

whose mother had not the social influence and importance she herself

possessed, yet this girl was making an excellent match. It was too

vexatious!

Ragna looked up and meeting her Aunt's eyes, said:

"You have been out a long time, Auntie, did you enjoy yourself?"

"No," answered Fru Boyesen, "at least not very much. I don't see, Ragna,

why you can't go out and enjoy yourself like other young people instead

of moping here all by yourself and spoiling your looks with all your

studying. Now Astrid goes about and has a good time--she is out skating

with her friends now. Why can't you be more like her?"

"So you've been to Fru Bjork's," remarked Ragna quietly.

"I've been where I pleased," said Fru Boyesen, untying her

bonnet-strings and smoothing them between her plump fingers. "I don't

see what it has to do with you where I go. You shouldn't take me up so.

I think you are a very strange girl--and Fru Bjork can't understand you

any better than I do," she added.

"I do wish, Auntie, that you would not discuss me with Fru Bjork, or

anyone else."

"Hoighty, toighty, Miss! I shall discuss whom I please, and if you will

be so peculiar and different from other girls, you must expect people to

talk."

"It's none of 'people's' business what I choose to do or not to do,"

returned Ragna, making little scribbles on the sheet of paper before

her. When her Aunt came in, she had been asking herself if she were not

really foolish in holding herself thus aloof from her fellows, but at

the hint of public criticism on her actions she was up in arms again.

"Ragna, you are positively hopeless; I don't know how a niece of mine

can have so little sense! If you lived in a hut in the woods or on the

Desert of Sahara, you might do as you like, but here one has to consider

the opinion of one's neighbours."

"Who is my neighbour?" quoted Ragna softly, smiling in spite of herself.

She knew well that to her Aunt, "public opinion" consisted of the

prejudices of four or five of the foremost families of Christiania;

outside of that charmed circle she had a fine disregard as to what

people might think, in fact she expected people of less importance to

follow her example and conform to her opinions.

The smile was unwise in that it irritated the elder lady, already

ruffled by the unsuccessful visit to Dr. Tommsen.

"Oh, you may well laugh in your sleeve at me, Miss Know-it-all! The day

will come when you will realise that I am in the right--and it may be

too late!"

Ragna made no reply; she returned to her writing and the scratching of

her pen and the ticking of the clock filled the silence. Fru Boyesen,

after one or two ineffectual efforts, rose from her chair and left the

room.

"It's no use," she said to herself as she puffed up the stairs--she had

grown very stout of late,--"she is quite impossible. I've more than half

a mind to pack her off with the Bjorks. Else Bjork is not very clever,

but she has brought Astrid up to be a credit to her and I think I'll let

her try her hand with Ragna. I've been a fool to let her have her own

way so long,--her head is full of the stuff these atheistic professors

pour into it. I'll let her go; it can't do any harm, anyhow."

If she had entertained a secret hope that Ragna would elect to stay at

home with her, and incidentally conform to her wishes in general, she

was disappointed, for Ragna, when the proposition was broached to her,

hailed it with delight. It would afford a welcome relief, she thought,

from the growing monotony of her self-chosen occupations, which

consistency forbade her to change of her own accord, and would at the

same time remove her from her Aunt's ever more frequent innuendoes and

reproaches, besides taking her to Italy, the land of her dreams. Of late

the German Romanticists had formed the subject of her study and her mind

was, as so many northern minds were at that time, possessed by the

"_Drang nach Italien_."

There was much to be arranged for the journey, as Fru Bjork, in spite of

her many travels was always flustered by a fresh start; Astrid was of no

practical use and Ragna too much taken up with her personal

preparations, and also too inexperienced a traveller to be of much help

to her fussy chaperone. Fru Bjork was therefore glad to welcome an

addition to the party in the shape of a spinster of uncertain age,

Estelle Hagerup, who was expected to be the balance-wheel of the

expedition.

Fru Boyesen devoted all her energies to getting Ragna ready, and

supplied her with an amount of luggage remarkable for its bulk and

variety, every possible contingency of sickness and health being

provided for. Estelle Hagerup boldly risked the good lady's displeasure

by declaring that at least half must be left behind, and herself

undertook to separate the sheep from the goats by weeding out all but

the indispensable articles. It was the reverse of Penelope's web, for

what the uncompromising Estelle undid by day, Fru Boyesen and Ragna

restored by stealth at night, and on her next visit, Estelle would find

nobby parcels and piles of books more or less skilfully concealed

beneath the clothing in the boxes--and the struggle would begin again.

Fru Boyesen, having never left her native country, fondly imagined that

mustard-plasters, rolls of flannel, bottles of spirit and sundry other

necessities would be unobtainable in a strange land. Fröken Hagerup

heartlessly rejected all these things, but Fru Boyesen was not to be

out-done and the very last day after the boxes were closed and locked,

Estelle caught her stuffing two large parcels into the shawl-strap--one

containing a goodly provision of soap, the other, two bags, one of

flax-seed for poultices, the other of camomile flowers.

When, eventually, the time for starting came, Fru Boyesen wished she had

never thought of letting Ragna go out from under her control. "Else

Bjork is too soft, she will spoil her," she thought, "and the girl will

come back worse than when she left. I have been criminally weak with

her, but she'll ride roughshod over poor Else!"

As the luggage was being carried out of the house, an impulse seized her

to have it brought back again; then she chid herself for her

inconsistency.

"The little minx has upset me entirely! This is the first time in my

life I haven't known my own mind!" Therefore to hide the sinking of

heart she felt at the prospect of imminent loneliness, she assumed such

a stern and forbidding aspect that half Christiania, assembled to see

the party off, was certain that Ragna was being banished for some

heinous offence.

Ragna kissed her Aunt good-bye with a light heart,--was she not faring

forth to the land of her dreams?--And the separation would be but for a

few months.

* * * * *

When Ingeborg received her sister's letter announcing the prospective

journey, she burst into tears, much to the amazement of the family.

"Ragna is going, we shall never see her again!" she sobbed.

Lars Andersen reproved her sternly.

"Stop this nonsense, Ingeborg!" he ordered, "I will have none of this

foolish superstition in my house. The future rests with God."

But though he spoke boldly, yet his heart sank. Ingeborg's predictions

had a strange way of coming true.

BOOK II

CHAPTER I

"Astrid," said Ragna, "do make haste! It will be luncheon time before we

get out, and you can perfectly well finish your letter this evening."

Astrid looked up from her writing-board, nibbling her pen-holder

reflectively. She was sitting near one window of the room, and by the

other stood Ragna, pulling on her gloves impatiently. They had been in

Rome a few weeks, and the first fervour of sight-seeing over, had fallen

into a go-as-you-please sort of existence. Fru Bjork left the girls

largely to their own devices; the long flight of stairs to be climbed

after every outing so tired her legs and shortened her breath, that she

declined to face them more than once a day, and she had conscientious

scruples against eating in a restaurant, when her meals must be paid

for, in any case, at the pension. Estelle Hagerup preferred to wander

about alone; she would start out valiantly in the morning, her hat tied

firmly on her sleek head, her skirt looped up in festoons by a series of

flaps and buttons, displaying her sturdy broad-toed boots. The very

glasses perched on her prominent nose gave an earnest inquiring

expression to her face. Night-fall would see her home again, tired,

dusty, radiant and quite unable to give a connected account of her

peregrinations. She would blissfully say:

"I am drinking in the atmosphere, I am saturating myself with the

essence of Rome!" and the word "Rome" as she said it with an awed

expression and bated breath suggested a hoary cavern of antiquity,

haunted by the ghosts of buried Cæsars. Her short-sighted eyes would

grow round and she would clasp her large bony hands ecstatically.

Good-natured Fru Bjork smiled at her enthusiasm and if the girls made

fun of her at times, they did it pleasantly.

Astrid was inclined to be lazy; she enjoyed the sun and the warmth, and

the picturesque figures on the Spanish Stairs, but museums and picture

galleries bored her, and the churches, she declared, gave her the

creeps. So it fell out that Ragna who wished to do her sight-seeing

after a methodical plan, generally found herself alone. Armed with a

guide book she began at the beginning, as it were, visiting first the

most ancient ruins and relics, in their order, working on down to modern

times. It disconcerted her to find ancient and modern mingled--as they

so often were,--and at the Pantheon she resolutely shut her eyes to the

monuments of the House of Savoy, until such time as she should have

reached their place in history. It will be seen that her method involved

no little difficulty and much returning over the same ground. It seemed

pure lunacy to Astrid, who objected to being dragged over and over again

to the same place to observe some addition or later adaptation which she

had been forbidden to inspect on her first visit.

"It would be so easy to see it all at once," she plaintively protested,

but Ragna was adamant.

Astrid therefore pleaded her delicate health and the overfatigue caused

by such strenuous sight-seeing as an excuse to remain at home, where she

composed lengthy epistles to her fiancé with whom she was comfortably,

if not passionately, in love.

On this particular morning she was evolving a description of her

impressions during a drive on the Pincio the afternoon before. She felt

lazily content with the world, herself, and things in general and had no

wish to bestir herself.

"I wish you weren't so awfully energetic, Ragna," she said.

"Well, I couldn't sit down in Rome and bite my pen all day, as if there

were nothing better to do,--you might as well be in Christiania! Come,

get on your things!"

"What are you going to see to-day?"

"I'm not going to see anything this morning. I have some shopping to do

in the Corso."

Astrid's eyes brightened, then she shook her head.

"I must finish my letter first."

"Oh, nonsense! Edvard can wait a few hours!"

"You always say that--but then you don't know what it is to be engaged,"

she glanced at the pretty ring decorating her hand. "You see, Edvard

gets so huffy if I'm not regular in my correspondence, and I haven't

written to him for three days."

Ragna shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, very well! I suppose I must wait. Do be as quick as you can,

Astrid, the morning is almost all gone."

She stood drumming on the window-sill, looking down into the busy Piazza

Montecitorio far below. A row of "_botti_" stretched across the sunny

side, the drivers carrying on an animated conversation among themselves

and with one or two flower sellers. The old woman who kept the

news-stand at the corner, alternately sorted her newspapers and warmed

her fingers over her scaldino, for the air was crisp, it being early in

January. Through the Piazza streamed a motley procession of tourists,

red-covered Baedeker in hand,--priests in cassock and beaver hat,

_popolini_ and girls, and some _Trasteverine_ with coloured stays over

white _camicie_, and strings of coral about their necks. Ragna watched

them all with fascinated eyes. The variegated Roman crowds were a

constant source of interest and delight to her; she could not but feel

the charm of their casual, seemingly untrammelled existence. The Romans,

she thought, had not a worry in the world, their happy care-free faces

drew her; even in the beggar's professional whine she observed a lack of

real distress--all seemed to float lightly on the surface of Life,

passing the under-currents, the sunken rocks, skimming carelessly over

the shallows. She remembered a boy she had seen the day before, breaking

his fast on a hunch of bread and a glass of sour wine; his bare feet

protruded from tattered trouser-legs, his elbows showed through rents in

the sleeves of his ragged jacket. He was a flower-vendor and she had

stopped to choose a bunch of flowers from his basket. When she paid him,

he thanked her with a brilliant smile, displaying his white teeth, and

in halting Italian she asked him what made him so happy.

"Happy, Signorina? Of course I am happy,--the sun is warm and I have my

bread and wine--!"

It was little reason enough, in all conscience, thought Ragna; she

wondered what made these people satisfied with the passing sensation,

oblivious of ulterior good or ill, and she envied them.

Her eyes wandered to the clock on the Parliament buildings opposite,--it

was almost eleven. She turned half angrily to Astrid who was gazing into

space, still chewing her pen-holder.

"Haven't you finished yet?"

Astrid started and a look of contrition came over her face.

"Oh! I'm awfully sorry Ragna, but I just can't write quickly to-day.

Don't wait for me, there's a dear! I'll go out with you this afternoon.

I'll be ready by then, I truly will!"

Ragna pushed out her underlip, but made no answer; she merely shut the

door quite firmly behind her as she left the room. She descended the

long stairs and crossed the Piazza, shaking her head at the eager

_vetturini_ one or two of whom rattled after her cracking their whips,

in hopes of a fare. She walked along resolutely, seemingly unconscious

of the attention she attracted. She wore part of her thick golden hair

down her back where it hung well below the waist, and the rest wreathed

in massive plaits about her head. Men of the people often spoke to her

as they passed, praising her "_cappelli d'oro_," calling her "_bella

biondina_" and "_simpaticona_," but she had become accustomed to it, and

took no notice of them. In her heart of hearts she was flattered by the

simple homage which had nothing of either insolence or rudeness.

She walked on enjoying the crisp air, for though the sun was warm, snow

lay on the Albon Hills and the breath of it gave a keen edge to the

breeze. She was in the Corso, standing, looking in a shop window, when

she saw, reflected in the plate glass, a man who had passed her suddenly

turn on his heel and come to her side; at the same moment a voice,

strangely familiar, asked her in French:

"Have I not the pleasure of addressing Mdlle. Andersen?"

She turned and met the eyes of Prince Mirko. The colour left her cheeks

and she felt a suffocating sensation at her heart. She could not answer

him, her voice seemed strangled in her throat. The Prince continued:

"Or is it Madame Something?"

The red came back to her cheeks with a rush, and recovering the use of

her tongue, she murmured,

"Your Highness! Here?"

"Yes," he answered, "I'm not a ghost, but I'm not a 'Highness'

either,--I left that at home; I am plain 'Count Romanoff,' for the

present. But you are still Mademoiselle Andersen?"

She nodded affirmatively.

"What shall I say? That I am glad? But that would be selfish--poor

unfortunate man that you have not married!" He laughed easily.

Ragna smiled; his playful assumption of comradeship put her at her ease;

the ice was broken, it was a tacit resumption of their friendly relation

before the far away evening of the kiss. Perhaps he had forgotten that

episode, his cheerful friendliness of manner gave no intimation of any

such recollection, and Ragna felt gladly assured that such was the case.

The thought completed her composure, and she replied,

"But neither have you married, Your--"

"No! No!" he interrupted, "don't call me that! In the first place I am

here incognito, and then I have always liked to think that to at least

one charming person in the world, I am just myself, just 'Mirko.' We

were comrades on the ship--let us begin again where we left off--shall

we?"

Her eyes interrogated him intently, but she still saw no sign of an

embarrassing memory, so she allowed herself to smile. In point of fact,

he had no distinct recollection of those days on the _Norje_, nor of

their ending; many new faces had come between, in the intervening years.

He merely remembered Ragna as a charming child who had helped while

away the hours on the little steamer, and the finding of her here in

Rome was a windfall, when he most needed distraction. His eye followed

approvingly the slightly more developed curves of her figure and the

shining ripples of her hair. He had been to Monte Carlo and luck had

been against him, even to his father's hearing of the escapade, and it

had been intimated to him that a month or so of rustication incognito

before coming home, in order to give the paternal wrath time to cool,

would materially aid in the restoration of peace. Ragna's emotion at his

sudden appearance laid a flattering unction to his soul; her northern,

and to him, unusual beauty attracted him newly, and he said to himself,

"Unlucky at cards, lucky in love--_chi lo sa?_"

"Let us move on," he said to Ragna, "we are attracting attention as well

as stopping the way. You will let me walk with you, and you shall tell

me how it is you happen to be here."

Ragna found herself walking beside him as in a dream. In reply to his

questions she told him of her journey to Italy with Fru Bjork and

Astrid; she described Fröken Hagerup and her peculiarities, to his great

amusement. Something in him seemed to draw out the wit and humour in

her--or perhaps it was the excitement of the unexpected meeting,--in any

case she talked to him as she had never talked to anyone in her life.

So they walked on until they reached the Piazza del Popolo, and Ragna

looking at her watch found, to her horror and surprise, that it was

half-past twelve.

"And I never heard the midday gun!" she exclaimed.

The large square was deserted; a beggar or two sat eating in the sun by

the fountains. Even the busy Corso seemed empty.

"I must hurry home at once," said Ragna, turning swiftly.

"It is a long walk,--why go back? Why not celebrate our reunion by

lunching with me?" suggested Mirko.

"Oh, no!" she shook her head, "that would never do! They would all be

anxious about me if I did not turn up--and think what Fru Bjork would

say when she heard I had been lunching with a young man!"

"But why should she hear of it? You can say you have been sight-seeing,

too far away for you to get back in time. Make any excuse you like, but

do be good! Come!" His voice was like that of a spoilt child begging for

a new toy.

"Astrid knows I'm not sight-seeing to-day. I told her before I went

out."

He observed that she appeared not to resent the idea of a mild

deception--or was it that she wished to ignore the suggestion?

"You are afraid of me!" he said teasingly. "Believe me, I am not an

ogre!"

She rose at once to the bait.

"Afraid? Why should I be afraid? I say 'no' because it is impossible."

Her tone was final.

Mirko laughed.

"'When a woman won't, she won't, and there's an end on't!'" he quoted.

"At least one hears so. What is it, obstinacy or propriety as

personified by your compatriots?"

"In this case it would amount to the same."

"Not in the least; obstinacy is hopeless, but Mrs. Grundy may be got

around."

"How so?" asked Ragna.

"In the first place, there is no reason at all why Mrs. Grundy should

become aware of my existence--in the second place, there are ways of

placating that worthy dame. I know something of that," he smiled to

himself reminiscently. "However, that is beside the point,--prevention

is better than cure, besides being simpler. No, little friend," he

emphasized the word, "let our friendship be free from outside

interference--let us keep it to our two selves."

Ragna thought that too delicate to hint of their difference in station,

he was taking this way of urging on her the private character of their

acquaintanceship,--of telling her that he did not care to be thrust into

a bourgeois _milieu_. That he should desire to prolong the chance

renewal of their comradeship beyond the hour, flattered her, and she was

too innocent-minded and too accustomed to the free intercourse between

northern men and maidens to see any real harm in acceding to his

suggestion. "Concealment," she told herself, "did not necessarily imply

deceit, so why expose herself to the curiosity of Astrid and Estelle

Hagerup, why hedge about this unexpected adventure with the formality

that must of necessity follow on disclosure, when she might so easily

keep it to herself?" Quite unconsciously she was actuated by a slight

jealousy of Astrid; in spite of herself, the assured triumph of Astrid's

career as symbolised in her engagement, the consequence it gave her in

the eyes of others, rankled in Ragna's spirit. The thought that a prince

sought her friendship raised her in her own eyes and gave her a sort of

moral vertigo. If Mirko had shown the slightest sign of remembering that

he had once kissed her, her pride would have been up in arms to defend

her, but he seemed to remember her only as a merry comrade and it was

as such that he sought her society. He saw her hesitation and pressed

his point.

"Let me show you the charm of Italy, you will never learn it alone.

Italy to be understood must be seen through two pairs of eyes--and you

can always dismiss me the minute you are tired of me. I should so like

to show you Rome,--the Rome I love--There is no reason why anyone should

know, you have told me yourself that you go about alone. You don't know

how useful I can make myself if I try!"

Ragna laughed.

"I confess you convey more the impression of a 'lily of the field,' than

of an exponent of the beauty of utility!"

"Oh, but you've never seen me really hard at work! Nor has anyone else,

for the matter of that," he added to himself.

"Then what is it, exactly, you expect to do for me?"

"I shall be your guide, philosopher and friend. '_Sous les remparts de

Rome et sous ses vastes plaines!_'" he declaimed, drawing himself up.

Ragna's eyes sparkled mischievously,

"I believe I should make a better cicerone than you, if it comes to

that!"

"Oh, that is quite beside the point! It is unspeakably barbarian to

insist on guide-book accuracy. I shall supply what is much more

important: the atmosphere."

"That is what Fröken Hagerup says she is absorbing."

"She will never know anything about it. Haven't I told you it takes two

to see it?"

"How so? One to pour it out and one to drink it in?"

"I didn't remember you so flippant--have you lost all respect for your

elders?"

"The child is ready to learn," said Ragna, assuming an expression of

becoming meekness. Indeed she hardly recognised her sedate self in this

new and agreeable sensation of buoyancy.

"Now," said Prince Mirko, changing his tone, "where shall I meet you

again? This afternoon--"

"Is out of the question; I must go out with Fru Bjork and Astrid."

"Then to-morrow morning meet me at the entrance to the Palatino."

"But I haven't said that I would come."

"Oh, yes, you will."

"You take too much for granted."

"I don't think so."

"Then I shan't come," said Ragna, nettled by his air of complacent

certainty.

"I shall be there, and we shall see what we shall see," was his calm

rejoinder.

They had reached the Piazza Colonna, and Mirko paused, hat in hand.

"I shall come no further--until to-morrow, then!" He turned and left her

without waiting for a reply. Ragna watched his lithe figure as he strode

easily across the open space. She felt dissatisfied with herself and

angry with him for this somewhat cavalier leave-taking, and his

confident assumption that she would do as he said.

"What does he take me for?" she asked herself as she sped with rapid

steps towards her belated luncheon. "I shall not go to meet him, no I

shall not."

She entered the dining-room of the pension, flushed and breathless from

the stairs, and found it nearly empty, most of the guests having already

finished. Fru Bjork, who liked to take things easily, was still busy

with a slice of cold meat, and Astrid picked daintily at an orange with

slender fingers.

"Wherever have you been, so long, Ragna?" she asked.

"Did you get the photographs in the Corso?"

"Yes,--or at least no," answered Ragna in some confusion. "It was such a

lovely morning I went for a walk instead. I thought I would leave the

photographs till you could come with me to choose them." Lying did not

come easily to her, and her awkwardness would have betrayed her at once

to a keen observer, but Fru Bjork was too unobservant to notice it and

Astrid felt confused herself, owing to her failure to be ready to go out

as she had promised.

Ragna sat down in her place, removing her gloves as she did so. She

poured herself a glass of water, but her hand shook and the water

streamed over the table cloth. Fru Bjork, seeing it, said kindly,

"My dear, you should not run up the stairs so fast,--it is bad for the

heart. You are too young to think about such things, but when you are my

age you will know."

Ragna blushed, thinking of the real reason of her excitement, and the

good lady continued anxiously:

"And how flushed your face is, my dear! Oh really, really, you must be

more careful!"

She was interrupted by Ragna's other neighbour, an old Swedish lady,

whose long nose seemed to rest on her chin and that again on her

voluminous bosom tightly sheathed in striped silk, and adorned by a

cameo brooch and a frill of lace that had seen fresher days. She laid

her mittened hand on Ragna's arm, and said:

"My sweet one, will you choose an orange, the very nicest one, for me?

My poor eyes are so bad that I am afraid to trust them." She had drawn

the fruit dish over to her and appeared to be trying the efficacy of her

nose in selecting fruit.

Ragna picked out an orange at random and laid it on the lady's

plate,--the interruption was not unwelcome to her.

"Ah, that is very nice indeed, my dear. Thank you so much! And are you

quite sure it is the very best? Well then I know you will like to peel

it for me!"

Astrid leant across the table, saying,

"I'll peel it for you while Ragna eats her luncheon."

"Thank you, my dear," said the old lady, a little stiffly.

"You are very kind, but I think the other young lady would have done it

more carefully. Young folk are so apt to be inconsiderate, nowadays!"

She sighed heavily. Presently she addressed herself to Fru Bjork.

"Don't you think that young people are apt to be inconsiderate

nowadays?" she inquired raising her voice. Astrid winked at Ragna; the

old lady was their pet antipathy; Astrid had christened her the "Old

Woman of the Sea." She always came to the table first and left it last,

and managed to keep her neighbours busily employed most of the time.

Fru Bjork answered slowly, a little streamer of salad waving at the

corner of her mouth.

"I don't agree with you; I have not found them inconsiderate."

"Then you have been more fortunate than I. I must say, however, that the

young men are worse than the young women. Only the other day I asked a

young man to give me _the_ piece of chicken in a fricassee, and he gave

me the neck."

Astrid stifled a wild giggle in her serviette. The old lady turned to

her.

"Are you choking? Get someone to thump your back! But there has been

much worse--" she again trained her eye on Fru Bjork,--"just think, last

night I never closed an eye, for two thoughtless young men who had the

room next to mine, were packing up to go, and they dragged their heavy

boxes about and made such a noise that I couldn't sleep at all! It was

most inconsiderate of them towards one so much older and so far from

strong!"

Astrid's choking became violent. Her room was next to that of the young

men, and they had made such a noise that at last she had knocked on the

partition asking them to be quiet. They had answered, begging her

pardon, explaining that they had been trying to wake the old lady whose

sonorous snoring made it impossible to sleep. And in fact, the snoring

had been a running accompaniment to the various thumps and bangs, and

had continued on, triumphant and undiminished.

"You had better go to your room, Astrid," said her mother. She had heard

the story, and in her kindness of heart was afraid of hurting the old

lady's feelings.

Ragna rose also, glad of an excuse to go.

"Oh," gasped Astrid, as they left the room, "that old woman will kill me

yet. 'So inconsiderate of them!'" she mocked.

"Hush," said Ragna, laughing, "she will hear you!"

"I don't care if she does!" said Astrid, "horrid old mole! She told me

I looked consumptive, and that my colour was a hectic flush. If she can

see that much she ought to be able to help herself at table!"

Ragna went to her room and sat down on her bed. She felt all in a whirl.

The Prince in Rome! And he wished her to be his friend! She was uneasily

conscious that she should have spoken of the meeting to Fru Bjork--but

the Prince did not wish it. "I suppose on account of his being

incognito," she told herself--but reason told her that his official

presence would have rendered any intercourse impossible.

"It's like a fairy-tale come true, to have seen him again," she thought,

"but I will not meet him to-morrow. Of course there would be no harm if

I did. I am old enough to take care of myself,--but I shall not, it

would be better not."

She was still going over in her mind the conversation of the morning,

when Astrid and Fru Bjork entered, ready for the drive. Ragna started

guiltily and Astrid pointed a derisive finger:

"Behold the punctual Ragna! Who's late this time, Miss?"

"I'll be ready in a second," said Ragna flying about the room, while Fru

Bjork subsided to a chair, settling her bonnet strings under her double

chin.

"There, there!" she said in her comfortable way, "don't hurry so,

there's no harm done!"

"Now I'm ready!" cried Ragna.

"Why, my child," exclaimed Fru Bjork, "you have one grey glove and one

tan one, and you have put your green coat over your blue frock!"

Astrid giggled, "The air of Rome must have gone to your head!"

Ragna, much confused, rectified her mistakes, and the party set out.

They drove to the Doria Pamphilj gardens and afterwards to the

Janiculum. Fru Bjork stopped the carriage and they got out and walked.

Ragna loved the view from that point better than any other she had seen;

the huge mass of St. Peter's, towering like a Titan above the city

dwarfing all else by the symmetrical immensity of the dome, fascinated

and held her. It dominated humanity, she thought even as it dominated

Rome,--the Mother Church, Mistress of the World, rising triumphant on

the ruins of the past.

She would willingly have stood there for hours, but the early winter

dusk was falling; Astrid shivered and Fru Bjork said "Home."

The return drive through the Trastevere was a delight to Ragna, though

Astrid turned up her delicate nose at the variety of smells, and Fru

Bjork commented at length on the unhealthfulness of defective drainage.

To Ragna it seemed a fairy world, and the hour after sunset, "blind

man's holiday" brought out all the wonder and mystery of it, throwing a

kindly veil over dirt and sordid details. Lights twinkled in the winding

streets, and as they passed Hilda's Tower they saw the glow of the lamp

in the shrine. And beneath it all, there ran as an undercurrent in

Ragna's mind, the Prince in Rome!

CHAPTER II

When Ragna opened her eyes the next morning, she had the impression of

opening them to a new life, different from that of yesterday; there was

something to look forward to,--just what, her sleepy memory refused to

say. Then as she stirred and sat up, it came back to her, and again she

declared: "I shall not go to meet him, it would be foolish!"

But she dressed with unusual care, and went to the dining-room for

breakfast, afraid of finding Astrid ready to accompany her, and at the

same time almost hoping for it. Astrid, however, had elected to spend

the morning in bed; she had got a chill, she said, from the drive the

day before, and yawning, buried her face in the sleeve of her blue

flannel bed-jacket. So Ragna started out alone, and resolutely set her

face towards the Vatican. She had gone but a short distance, however,

when she wheeled about, and walked as rapidly in the opposite direction.

"It can do no harm if I meet him this once," she argued. Then, "I

suppose I am a fool." A panic seized her, suppose he should not come,

after all? As she turned the end of the Forum, she saw the graceful

figure of Prince Mirko coming to meet her.

"I knew it!" he cried joyously, waving his hat like a school-boy. "I

knew you would not disappoint me!"

His gaiety was infectious, and Ragna's laugh echoed his. He took the

red guide-book from her hand, and held it up accusingly.

"Why have you brought this? I told you, you would not need one with me!"

he cried, stuffing the offending book into his pocket.

They passed through the turnstile, and strolled up the path in the wake

of the official guide. The bright Roman sunshine illuminated the Forum

below, gilding the columns and casting short blue shadows in the

excavations. Overhead, the sky was a deep rich blue, and the air was

charged with the peculiar sweetness of approaching Spring. The guide

walked slowly, his hands in his pockets, humming an air from Rigoletto:

"_Questao quella per me pari sono_,"--Mirko hummed it also, then broke

into "_La donno è mobile_," giving it with rollicking voice.

Ragna smiled at him.

"In the opera it is the man who is 'mobile,' in spite of what the song

says!"

"Oh, no, the song is quite right--when a man is openly unfaithful, it is

only in answer to a secret defection on the part of the woman. Any

intelligent woman who wishes to keep a man, can do it--you can always be

sure that it is really the woman's fault if a man strays in his

allegiance."

"That is an extremely convenient theory," said Ragna, laughing, "but it

is a poor rule that won't work both ways. Would you make the man

responsible for infidelity on the part of the woman?"

"Oh, that is a very different matter!"

"Why should it be?"

"You will not pretend, I suppose, that a woman is exactly the same as a

man? The difference between them alters the whole aspect of the case."

"Oh!" said Ragna, "you are incorrigible, you twist and turn so,--you

will never meet me fairly!"

"The infidelity of man," continued Mirko, "is different in its very

essence from that of woman,--it is quite possible for a man to be

constant when he is apparently most unfaithful--the superficial change

only enhances the charm of the real affection; he never tires of coming

back to it,--if he were never to leave it, it would pall on him."

"Why will you be so paradoxical?"

"It is not I who am paradoxical,--it is life."

They were so absorbed in their conversation, that the guide found no way

of attracting their attention; in vain did he hem and haw, and scrape

his foot on the gravel.

"They are most certainly a '_viaggio di nozze_,'" he thought, "or

perhaps '_fidanzati_'--as such they will be generous."

Finally, as they came to the entrance to the ruins, he stepped before

them with a commanding gesture.

"This, Signori, is the gallery where the Empress sat with her ladies.

You see it overlooks the street where the chariots passed up to the

palace. The palace itself was built out over the way, and the people

went under it as under a bridge."

"See," said Mirko, "can you not imagine it,--the beautiful gallery, with

its marble balustrade, hung with woven carpets and silken

draperies--there before you in the sunlight? Do you not see the Empress,

beautiful, stately, robed in purple, gems and gold-dust in her dark

hair, wonderful jewels on her neck and arms? There are the ladies,--the

proud dark one just behind her, the fair girl leaning over the

balustrade at her side, with the gold of the sun on her hair, on her

white dress, and the other three, laughing together, over there to the

left? The slave-girls are holding peacock-feather fans to shield their

royal mistress, and the slave-boys, beautiful, fair-haired captives,

have brought baskets of fruit and sweets. And down in the street below,

what a crowd, what a riot of colour! The Cæsar on his white horse with

the gold trappings--do you catch the gleam of his burnished helmet, of

his cuirass? He turns his head haughtily, and gathers up the reins in

his hand; his short sword clatters against his thigh as his horse moves

on. There, just behind him, comes the centurion of his escort, brave to

see in his flaunting scarlet cloak, and the legionaries follow, like so

many animated bronze statues. See--the fair waiting-maid by the Empress

has dropped a rose to the centurion--he looks up and smiles--his teeth

flash white--the slaves, carrying jars and baskets on their heads, have

flattened themselves against the walls, to let the procession go by,--it

moves like a glittering snake up the narrow way.--Hark! the salute of

the palace guard, spear rattling on shield, and the shout 'Ave Cæsar!'

It echoes under the vaulted way--and all Rome is in that cry!"

Mirko was flushed with enthusiasm; he threw back his head, and the

clear-cut features of his classic face glowed, his dark eyes flashed, he

seemed the very incarnation of that "lust of the eye and pride of life,"

of that "grandeur that was Rome."

As he spoke, Ragna saw the pageant of those far off days unrolled before

her. She felt the throbbing of all the passionate life of old, where but

a few minutes before there had been but moss-grown stone and crumbling

ruins. He had laid a spell on her; she was for the moment, by virtue of

his imagination, and its dramatic expression, actually living in the

past, feeling its reality.

And so it continued throughout the morning. In the long paved

underground passage way, Mirko showed her Cæsar, carried along in his

litter, returning from his theatre. She saw the flickering light of the

torches, heard the sandalled footsteps of the slaves,--their heavy

breathing, the creak of the poles. And at the foot of the stairs she saw

the sudden confusion,--the dark-cloaked assassins stealing from the

shadow, she heard the shrieks, the cries of "Treason!" "Murder!" She saw

in glimpses between the surging figures, the white-faced Emperor,

struggling from his litter,--his unwieldy form leapt upon, borne back

and down, then blows,--a gurgling groan. She saw the overturned litter,

the crumpled body on the floor, the widening pool of blood,--then flight

to the long flare of torches snatched from the trembling slaves, then

darkness, and the alarm.

She saw the gay crowds, trooping into the Circus Maximus, the arrival in

procession of Cæsar, æditor of the games. She watched breathless the

speeding chariots, and carried out of herself, with flushed cheeks and

shining eyes, joined in the thunderous applause which acclaimed the

victor,--the hoarse roar which must, it seemed, shake the very

foundations of Rome.

When it was all over, and the guide had beamingly pocketed his _mancia_

and they were in the street again, Ragna drew a long breath.

"It has been wonderful!"

"Then you are satisfied with your cicerone? You are convinced that a

guide-book is unnecessary?"

"Oh," she answered, "the book makes it all into a cemetery,--or a table

of dates,--but you have made Rome live.--It can never be the same now,

as it was before; I have been there, I have seen it, it is part of

me,--and without you I should never have known anything of it at all.

How do you do it? How do you bring it all to life?"

Mirko smiled, well pleased with the result of his effort and with

himself.

"I have been there."

"Been there! How?"

"I was once a Roman, I feel it, I know it!"

"Yes," she answered, "I think you must have been,--I can feel that you

have been--you have made me feel it."

They were silent for a few minutes, and Ragna repeated:

"It has been wonderful!"

When they had parted, and Ragna found herself alone, the wonder of it

grew on her. How blind she had been until the Prince opened her eyes!

She was very glad that she had come, all her half-formulated scruples

were laid at rest. How foolish she had been to imagine any possible

harm!--What could be more innocent or more delightful than their

informal comradeship? He was quite right too, in wishing to keep it all

to themselves. Astrid would not, could not understand, still less so

good, prosaic-minded Fru Bjork, and as for Estelle Hagerup! Ragna

laughed scornfully, as there rose before her mental vision the

grasshopper-like silhouette of that strenuous spinster.

At luncheon, looking about her at the commonplace faces of her fellow

sojourners, she could not repress a secret movement of vanity.

"How many of these," she thought, "would give their eyes to spend a

morning like mine,--and with a friend like mine!" She even pitied

Astrid,--poor Astrid, who had never known a Prince!

Estelle Hagerup announced a discovery--she had a voice.

"My dears," she said with pride, "what a voice! Just as clear as

crystal, and very powerful--and to think I never knew of it before!"

"How did you find it out, Estelle?" asked Ragna and Astrid together.

"I was standing on the top tier of the Colosseum, and the impulse came

over me to sing--so I lifted up my voice and sang. I wish you could have

been there to hear! A _custode_ came running at once and was much

impressed. He said he had never heard anything like it in his life. I

gave him a lira, and he said '_grazie Contessa_.' He refused to leave me

after that, and waited till I was ready to go with the greatest

deference."

"Are you thinking of the operatic stage?" asked Astrid wickedly.

"Perhaps that may come later, when I shall have acquired a repertory."

"You will have to study," said the old Swedish lady. "There was a young

woman here last winter studying music, and she sang scales three hours a

day; she had a room next mine. I should advise you to go to

Florence--they say there are better singing-masters there."

"I shall not sing scales," said Estelle firmly.

"I thought one always had to," put in Ragna.

"Not with a voice like mine; my voice is far beyond scales."

"That is very satisfactory, dear Fröken," said the old lady. "My dear,"

this to Ragna, "will you give me the largest tartlet,--the one with the

most jam on it?"

"I hope," remarked Fru Bjork, "that you will do nothing so silly as to

train for the stage, Estelle." She was about to add, "at your age, too,"

but refrained.

Estelle simpered.

"Why should it be silly, Fru Bjork, if I feel it to be my vocation? Why

should I not give utterance to the sacred fire that is within me? Is it

not my duty to humanity?"

Fru Bjork found no answer to this, and held her peace, but Ragna was

more daring.

"Do you think you have a stage presence, Estelle?" she asked.

"Why not? I am tall--besides, it is much more important to have voice

and temperament. I feel it my mission to redeem the stage. Why do you

ask me such a question?"

Ragna was saved from answering by the old lady.

"My dear! My dear! Pick me out something before they carry the fruit

around! Last evening that man with the whiskers at the end of the table

took the last banana, before I had a chance."

Ragna rose from the table in disgust. She longed to be back in the past

again with Prince Mirko--all these present things seemed so vulgar and

common by contrast, and yet until now, they had amused her! She looked

about the dining-room and despised the men in it. A stout German with

his napkin tucked in at the neck, sprawled over his plate, emitting

hideous grunts and smacks, at the other end of the room, two

well-nourished Englishmen sat with their families like self-satisfied

roosters with their feathered following. At her own table, an anæmic

and dreamy-eyed art-student played with his dessert, an Italian

Commendatore with white whiskers, and a rotund waistcoat, beamed on his

neighbours, and a gentleman with marvellous tight striped trousers, a

still more marvellous moustache and a flamboyant necktie, was lighting a

cigarette.

"How vulgar, how horrid they are!" thought Ragna.

CHAPTER III

It seemed to Ragna that she had opened her eyes on a new Heaven and a

new Earth. As the days went on and lengthened into weeks, she grew so

dependent on the companionship of Prince Mirko, that if a day passed

without her seeing him, she felt blank and as though defrauded of a

pleasure that was hers by right. A curious change, too, had taken place

in her mental or rather sentimental attitude, for whereas at first, she

had dreaded his recalling the, to her, unforgetable episode of the last

evening on the _Norje_, she now felt secretly piqued by his lack of

memory, and by his mere friendliness. It was as though she were

disappointed in not having to ward off unwelcome--or too

welcome--advances. The passionate impulsiveness of him, as she

remembered it, but threw into greater relief the measured comradeship of

his present attitude towards her. A more experienced woman would have

suspected him of "parti pris," for a purpose, but Ragna saw nothing but

genuine indifference, and her feminine vanity urged her to force him

into recognition of the womanhood he had been instrumental in awakening.

Therefore the simple almost childlike relations of the first days had

insensibly given way to a state of tension which Mirko understood and

was ready to turn to his advantage, but which Ragna did not understand

in the least. Here her real innocence was the weak point in her armour.

Several days passed thus, each waiting for a sign. Mirko with

perspicacity, and Ragna with a sort of subconscious expectation.

One afternoon towards the end of February they were standing by the

balustrade of the Pincio watching the sunset. The sky was a gorgeous

riot of crimson and gold, across which were flung like flaunting royal

pennants, long streamers of dark purple clouds. The very air was

luminous and golden, and the bells ringing for vespers in the amethyst

and grey city below, filled the ear with triumphant clangour. The

carriages were leaving the drive and rolled by silently under the

grey-green ilexes, the noise of the horses and of the wheels drowned by

the ringing of the bells. Ragna stood in ecstasy, her hands tightly

clasped, looking out over the sea of roofs and towers to where the great

Dome rose bubble-like, silhouetted against the glowing sky. Her face was

flushed, her eyes shining, her parted lips quivered. Mirko watching her

said to himself:

"She is ready."

She gave a sigh of deep enjoyment and murmured, "It is like what one

would imagine Heaven to be!" Mirko echoed her sigh; she turned and her

eyes met his and there was that in his glance, which caused her to lower

her eyes and her heart to beat suddenly quicker.

"It is like Paradise," he said, "but the essential is lacking; it is

like a beautiful woman without a soul."

Ragna made no answer and he continued dreamily as though thinking aloud:

"All is perfect--the stage is ready for the players--the outward

semblance is awaiting the soul to animate it."

He paused again, but the girl still remained silent. Presently he

addressed her directly:

"I told you I would unveil to you the spirit of Italy, I have done my

part--the rest lies with you."

"I do not understand what you mean," she answered. "I think you have

opened my eyes--what is there still to learn?"

"I have shown you the form, the outward shape, but you have not yet

penetrated the spirit," he said, and his voice had the softness of a

caress. "You have not guessed what is the real soul of Italy--that which

makes her, though in ruins, the Soul of the World?"

"And that 'soul' is--?" she asked in a voice so faint he could hardly

catch it.

"Love," he said, and taking her unresisting hand pressed it.

"Love," he repeated presently, and his musical voice aroused all the

echoes in her heart. "Italy is love, and love is the spirit of Italy.

That is why lovers come here; there is love magic in the air, and those

who are destined to love cannot escape it. You," he said, looking into

her eyes, "you were born to love and be loved, do you not feel that it

is so?"

A deep blush crept over Ragna's cheeks, she drew her hand from his.

"Hush, this is folly. You must not talk to me like that!"

Now that he had spoken she wished that he had not, yet she knew now that

for days past she had been waiting for him to say just this. She felt at

the same time guiltily conscious of her delight that he should speak to

her in this way and terrified lest he should continue.

"Ah," said Mirko, "why should you fear the awakening of your soul? A

woman who has not loved, who does not love is a sweet instrument out of

tune. Love brings you into harmony with the music of the Universe. Do

you not want to learn all that life has to teach? The Book of Love is

here for you to open, you have but to stretch forth your hand."

Ragna stood listening fascinated. No one had ever talked to her like

this. The recollection of her Norwegian suitors rose to her mind and she

scorned them in her heart. Who of them all could have spoken like this?

This was fairyland, and the fairy Prince was at her side.

"Ragna," his voice caressed her, "Ragna, my Star of the North, tell me

have you not felt it, the magic spell?"

She raised her eyes to his, and there passed from him to her a magnetic

current that seized and shook her innermost being. It frightened her;

with an effort she turned her eyes away and the spell was broken. She

passed her hands to her heart, then stretched them out before her as

though to thrust him away.

"Oh, you must not!" she cried, "indeed you must not!"

"Have I said anything that could offend you? Surely not! I would die

rather than offend you, dear little friend!"

The word reassured her and soothed her conscience; how could she explain

that it was far more the look than the words?

"Perhaps you misunderstood me," he continued, "but I did not think you

would, I thought we knew each other too well for that!" He spoke as

though wounded by a misconstruction put upon his sincerity.

Ragna felt foolish.

"I shall try not to offend you again," he said presently, and very

humbly, "but you must bear me good-will enough not to look for offence

where none is intended."

The girl smiled at him by way of answer.

It was growing rapidly dark and a _guardia di pubblico sicurezza_

passing by, eyed the isolated couple curiously, but also with the

sympathy every Latin feels for a pair of lovers. The bells had long

since ceased ringing and many lights twinkled in the city below. In the

sky stood a fair large planet and Mirko drew Ragna's attention to it.

"Venus, the Star of Love," he said briefly, with no comment, but his

voice emphasized the words.

Ragna turned and they walked to the Spanish Stairs. As they passed the

Trinità del Monte a voice came out to them, a soprano voice marvellously

clear and vibrant, the pure high notes almost startling in their

passionate intensity.

"How beautiful!" said Ragna, and Mirko answered:

"But how sad! Think of a woman who can put that into her singing, eating

her heart out in a cloister!"

As they descended the stairs Ragna looked up again at the white planet

nearing the horizon, a whiter glow seemed to be overtaking the star,

drowning it in a diffused effulgence.

"The moon is casting poor Venus in the shade."

"Ah, yes, she is wise to retire before the moon! Listen, Ragna,

to-morrow the moon will be full,--you must give me the evening, we shall

go to see the Colosseum by moonlight!"

"The evening? Oh, never! It would be impossible! It is bad enough for

me to be out alone as late as this; Fru Bjork does not like it, I shall

be scolded when I go in."

"You can manage it well enough, if you want to. Think of it! The

Colosseum by moonlight--and there is no possible danger from malaria at

this time of year."

"It would be lovely," she said wistfully, "but I don't see how I

could--"

"Oh, easily! At dinner you say you have a headache and go to your room,

and when all the people are in the drawing-room, you slip out quietly

and I shall be waiting for you below."

"But how could I get in again?"

Mirko smiled at her simplicity.

"Tell the chambermaid you will give her a little present if she sits up

for you."

"But will she?"

"As certainly as she is an Italian; she will love to think she is making

the way easy for a pair of _innamorati_."

"Oh!" said Ragna.

"Of course," said Mirko, "we are not _innamorati_, we are friends,--but

she would not understand the distinction," he smiled to himself, "and in

any case how can it matter to you what she supposes?"

"I won't promise to come," declared Ragna; still the charm of such an

escapade appealed to her romantic imagination--and after all, there was

no real harm in it!

Mirko was satisfied and took advantage of the dusk to kiss her hand

twice when he had put her in a "botte" in the Piazza di Spagna. The act

had lost its significance to her since she had come to Italy and had

seen how generally it was practised, but this evening the pressure of

Mirko's lips sent a thrill through her fingers.

As she lay in her bed that night, Mirko's words: "I would rather die

than offend you!" rang in her ears and she smiled happily.

* * * * *

Dinner was drawing to an end and the long Pension dining-room was filled

with a hubbub of conversation in many languages. Estelle Hagerup and

Astrid were having a lively discussion on the advantages of matrimony as

compared with single blessedness.

"I say," declared Estelle, "that no man living is worth a woman's giving

up her whole life to him. Why should she? Why should the woman always

give up to the man? Then there is the monotony of it. I should be tired

to death of seeing the same face across the breakfast table every day in

the year, and year in, year out!"

"You needn't look at him then," said Astrid, "or you could make him sit

at the side, or have your breakfast in bed. Now I think it must be such

a comfort to have someone to grumble at, and who is obliged to listen to

you!"

"Oh, my dear, you'll find that all the grumbling won't be on your side!"

"I hope I shall bring my husband up too well for that!" said Astrid.

Estelle snorted.

"If only my dear Peter were alive!" sighed Fru Bjork, "he was such an

amiable man. I never knew him to grumble."

"Ah, well, there's no telling," said Estelle, "he might have in time."

"My blessed Peter would never have grumbled," said Fru Bjork with

finality. Astrid giggled.

"I should hate a man with no spirit, there would be no satisfaction in

managing him."

The old Swedish lady raised her head.

"My dear, it is most unseemly for a young woman to talk of 'managing'

her husband. Young people nowadays have lost the virtue of obedience."

"Obedience is for children and the feeble-minded," said Astrid. The old

lady gasped and raised her mittened hand.

"My dear, my dear, a wife should always obey her husband!"

"Well, I shan't when I'm married."

Fröken Hagerup interposed:

"You'll find that you'll have to, to keep the peace."

"Keep the peace indeed! That will be Edvard's business. Ragna, why don't

you say something?"

Ragna had been sitting silent; on being addressed she started and

dropped her fork.

"I--I have a headache." Her cheeks flamed at the lie. Fru Bjork looked

at her anxiously.

"I do hope you are not going to be ill, child! I am sure you have been

tiring yourself out with all this going about alone, I don't half like

it!"

"Stuff and nonsense," said Estelle, "she never looked better in her

life! A night's rest and she will be all right again. You should not

walk in the sun," she said to Ragna; "it is dangerous at this season of

the year. It is probably that that gave you your headache."

"I believe Ragna's in love with somebody," said Astrid, "all this

mooning about alone is a symptom, and she's losing her appetite, too."

"Nonsense!" said Ragna angrily. "I am a bit tired, but as Estelle says,

a night's rest will set me right. I think I shall go to bed now."

"I think you are right, Ragna," said Fru Bjork. "Take some quinine and

cover yourself well. I shall come a little later to see if you are

comfortable."

"Oh, please don't," said Ragna. "I feel quite sleepy already. I assure

you there is nothing to worry about, I had rather no one came, it might

wake me up."

Fru Bjork looked hurt.

"As you like," she said, and Ragna hated herself for her ungraciousness.

"Oh, why wasn't I born diplomatic?" she thought.

Astrid was looking at her rather maliciously through her lashes. The

headache had not deceived her, but she had no suspicion of the truth;

she thought that absence might have played advocate for some despised

Christiania swain; she wondered who it might be, and promised herself

that she would find out at the first opportunity.

When they rose from the table, Ragna went to her room and ostentatiously

called for hot water. The others repaired to the drawing-room, where the

old Swedish lady established herself with alacrity in the most

comfortable armchair. A lady of uncertain nationality opened the

pianoforte and played with faultless technique and absolutely no

expression, selections from Beethoven and Chopin, and the rest of the

company disposed themselves about the room, some reading, some sewing,

some talking in small groups. Astrid withdrew to a window-recess with

the art-student, with whom she had begun a mild flirtation. Fru Bjork

settled herself near the fire and took out her knitting; her brow was

furrowed and she puckered up her mouth. She was more worried about Ragna

than she cared to admit; certainly the girl looked the picture of

health, but she had been oddly absent-minded of late, and had seemed so

evidently to prefer going about alone that gradually the other members

of the party had given up offering to accompany her. Then her headache

of this evening--.

"I do hope the child is not going to be ill," repeated the good woman to

herself; she drew out a needle at the end of the row and meditatively

scratched her head with it.

Ragna, meanwhile, was devoured by a fever of excitement. Unable to sit

still she paced up and down her room; her hands trembled and she felt

curious nervous qualms through her body. She pinned on her hat with

unsteady fingers, drew on her gloves and threw a long dark cloak about

her. When enough time had elapsed for all to be well settled in the

drawing-room, she cautiously opened her door and locking it behind her,

stole down the passage, at the end of which a chambermaid was crocheting

lace by the light of an oil lamp.

"Rosa," said Ragna in a low voice, "I am going out but I don't wish

anyone to know of it. If you will let me in very quietly when I come

back--I shan't be late--I will give you a present. I shall knock on the

door with my knuckles three times,--like this. Do you understand?"

"_Si, Signorina_," answered the maid, showing her white teeth in a

smile. It was a sly understanding smile that made Ragna hot and

uncomfortable. She felt Rosa's curious eyes upon her as she went on down

the passageway to the door. In another minute she was flying down the

poorly-lit stairs; at the foot of the last flight a dark figure detached

itself from the surrounding gloom and came towards her.

"I thought you were never coming," said Mirko. His voice had an odd

triumphant note, but Ragna in her excitement failed to notice it. He

drew her arm through his and hurried her out and across the shadow side

of the Piazza, to where a carriage was waiting.

"_Al Coliseo!_" he said to the driver.

Ragna sat in a constrained attitude, her eyes cast down.

"Now," said Mirko, "you look as though you were embarking on a crime. I

ask you what harm is there in this little escapade?"

"I do so hate to deceive them all! What would Fru Bjork say if she

knew?"

"Has she never been young herself? If you knew, Ragna, the memories that

half these good and prudish ladies carry under their starched fronts,

you would be surprised. There is a proverb that says, 'when you are too

old to give yourself to the Devil it is time to turn to God!'" Then

seeing she looked shocked; "there, don't mind what I say,--I am so glad

you have come that I am not half responsible. You can take my word for

it that you are doing nothing very terrible. Do you think for a moment I

would ask you to?"

"No," she answered.

"And you are glad you came?"

"I feel as if I were being carried off by a brigand," said Ragna.

The Prince wore a broad-brimmed soft felt hat casting the upper part of

his face into deep shadow, he had thrown round him an Italian military

cloak, the folds of which flung up and over his left shoulder had the

grace of a toga. He really looked not unlike the gallant brigand of

romance.

"Oh, indeed!" he laughed, "and supposing I were to carry you off, far

away across the Campagne to a castle in the hills and hold you for

ransom, what then?"

"What ransom would you set on me?"

"A ransom no one could pay but yourself--a king's ransom: your love. And

the day you give it you would be free to go--if you so wished." He spoke

jestingly but his voice had a deep undertone that thrilled the girl.

"Would you pay the ransom, oh, captive?"

"Even a captive lady could not love to order," laughed Ragna.

"But could you not love a man, who for love of you carried you away from

all the world and made you his by force? I think you would--every woman

is really a Sabine at heart!"

Ragna was spared the necessity of answering by the carriage drawing up

at the entrance to the Colosseum.

"Shall we keep him?" asked Mirko, as he helped her to alight.

"No! no. Let us walk back."

Mirko dismissed the vetturino, who with much cracking of his whip, made

his way to the nearest osteria there to drink the health of the mad

forestieri who would risk any sort of "malanno" to see an old ruin by

moonlight.

The moon rode high in the heavens and the great building stood out clear

and sharp in the silvery light, the inky shadows seemed pregnant with

mystery. Ragna almost looked to see the ghosts of martyrs in horrid

procession, threading the gloomy archways. A shadow in the arena seemed

a pool of blood. Above, in the tribunes, bloodthirsty multitudes had

watched, breathless, the matchless show,--and well might the

Vestal-virgins cover their faces, of what avail the fate deciding thumb

when maidens and lions meet in the amphitheatre?

"Is it not wonderful?" asked Mirko.

"Wonderful, but horrible," said Ragna, "if ghosts walk anywhere on

earth, surely they must walk here! Think of all these walls have looked

down on!"

"Yes, the Games, the glorious Games!" he replied eagerly. "Oh, to have

seen it in its pomp and pride! Think of it, Ragna,--the people, the

colours in the sunlight, the purple velarium up there against the sky,

the Cæsar, the Senate, the Vestals,--and the gladiators in the ring!"

"I was thinking of the martyrs," said Ragna.

"Oh, the martyrs! Poor fools! After all it was their own fault."

His slight sneer grated on the girl's mood.

"They were glorious," she said indignantly, "they had the courage of

their convictions. They proved their strength,--they were stronger than

Cæsar, stronger than Rome,--their death was their victory!"

Her eyes shone, and Mirko, looking at her face upturned in the

moonlight, thought he had never seen her so beautiful, transfigured as

she was, by her enthusiasm.

"Would you have the courage of your convictions?" he asked suddenly.

"I--I don't know. Which convictions, for instance?"

"Well, if you did not believe in marriage, would you have the courage to

override public opinion?"

"But I do believe in marriage," she said simply.

"Do you believe that love can be bound with a chain, then?"

"There should be no question of binding--A marriage without love is no

marriage at all in my eyes."

He smiled at her earnest simplicity.

"That is all very well--for you," he said, "but for me? I may not marry

to please myself."

His voice had a caressing cadence, charged with regret, his eyes were

mournful under the long lashes. Perhaps for the moment he was really a

victim to self pity. Like most emotional people, he was apt to believe

in the sincerity of a passing feeling, even the appropriate pose of the

hour investing him with a fleeting reality of sentiment.

"No," said Ragna, "that is true. You cannot be free to follow your

heart, it is part of the price you must pay."

"The price is heavy."

They stood silent a time, then Mirko spoke again in a deep voice.

"I love you, Ragna, you know it--you must have seen it. I did not mean

to tell you, I have been fighting it down, but here in the moonlight it

is too strong for me. I love you, and it is not within my power to marry

you. I must go away, and perhaps never see you again; I have loved you

ever since those days on the _Norje_"--this was untrue but he said it

with conviction, even felt it--"and you love me darling, you can't deny

it. Oh, _cara_, _carissima_, look at me, let me see your eyes!"

His arm had stolen round her, she raised her head, and he saw that

bright drops glittered on her lashes. In a flash his mouth was on hers

and she returned his kiss. She stood unresisting in his embrace, leaning

against him, her whole form quivering, then after a moment, gently freed

herself and walked a few paces away, her head bent, clasping and

unclasping her hands. He followed her and would have taken her in his

arms again but she stopped him.

"What's the use?" she asked in a hoarse voice, "we have no right,--you

can't marry me. You must not--" her voice broke.

"But you love me," cried Mirko, a passionate gladness ringing in his

voice. "You do love me! Surely we have the right to a little happiness!"

"No," she answered slowly, "no, it is impossible. You must go away. This

is not your destiny. You will be King some day, your country, your

people, claim you."

"I will give it all up for you, Ragna!" He knew that he would not, but

promises come easily, by moonlight.

"No," she repeated, "you must go; we must part."

"But if you love me--"

"If I love you?"

"What need is there to part? If you loved me enough."

"Oh," she cried, suffocating, as his meaning dawned on her, "Oh! Do you

take me for that?"

She sprang back, her breast heaving, tears rising to her eyes.

"Take you for what, dear? For a woman who would love me better than all

the world beside? Do you think that an insult?"

"You--you would make me your--," she could not bring herself to say the

word.

Prince Mirko executed a masterly retreat.

"My child!" he cried in a horrified voice. "What do you imagine? I mean

that where true love is, there can be no parting. Far or near, those who

love are always united."

"Oh," said Ragna dubiously, "I thought you meant--"

Mirko fixed his mournful eyes upon her.

"Did I not tell you yesterday that I would rather die than harm you?" he

asked reproachfully.

Ragna hung her head, ashamed.

"You have no confidence in me--and yet I deserve it," he said bitterly.

"I have confidence in you; it was only that I did not understand, I was

afraid--"

"Do you wish to give me a proof of your confidence, dear one?"

"Yes," said Ragna, "what shall I do?" she was ashamed of her suspicion

and eager to atone.

"We have so little time left to us--only a few days, then our ways

part,--let us be lovers for that little time, as if we were betrothed,

as if we were to marry like ordinary people. Will you, dear? It can do

no harm--just a game of 'pretend' as the children say, and we shall have

those days to look back on all our lives!"

He sank to one knee, holding her clasped hands in his own, the folds of

his long cloak sweeping the ground. That, and the felt hat gave him the

appearance of a cavalier of romance. It was splendidly theatrical--but

it harmonized with the setting and the hour. His eyes, soft and burning,

held hers.

Why not? thought Ragna, a little romance,--a little happiness, a

gorgeous illusion, and the light would go out. Why not make the most of

the golden hours--there would be enough grey ones in the future to

compensate amply for the delicious fraud. Instinct warned her of hidden

danger--but had he not said:

"I would rather die than harm you!"

The pressure of his hand was insistent.

"Very well," she said faintly, "I will."

He sprang to his feet and clasped her in his arms, covering her face

with kisses.

"Oh!" she cried struggling, "you must not! It is not right!"

"Are you not my fiancée, my little love?" he asked in a pained voice.

"What hurt can my kisses do you? Oh, Ragna!"

He kissed her again, and this time she did not resist.

When he released her she was breathless and her head swam; she could

feel her heart leaping in her bosom and she pressed her hands upon it to

still its wild beating. Her face was white as marble and her eyes shone

strangely as though illuminated by fires within. In that moment, Mirko

really loved her; her confidence appealed to all that was best in him,

so realizing that he would not trust himself further he made the move to

go.

"It is late _Anima mia_, I must take you home now."

He encircled her waist with his arm under cover of her cloak and they

walked slowly back through the dark streets to the Piazza Montecitorio,

talking as they went. Or rather it was Mirko who talked and Ragna

listened, held in thrall by the musical voice of her lover. It did not

occur to her that to make love with such _mæstria_ presupposes a large

and varied experience.

He left her with a kiss under the gloomy _portone_, and she sped up the

stairs, wondering how she should explain her absence in case of

discovery. There was no need, however, for Rosa promptly answered her

timid knocking, and at a sign from her followed her to her room.

"Here," said Ragna, taking a little brooch from its case and tendering

it to the maid, "take this, Rosa,--it is the little present I spoke of."

"_Ma Signorina, che le pare?_" exclaimed Rosa with great deprecation,

"it is much too fine for me,--I will take nothing for so small a

service. It is a night made by the good God for lovers, do I not

understand that? I also have an _innamorato, Signorina_!"

Ragna, who two hours earlier would have felt unspeakably humiliated by

such a speech, now was conscious of a fellow feeling for the girl--such

is the freemasonry of love. She smiled and tucking the trinket into

Rosa's hand, said:

"Then you will wear this to remember me by, and also to look well in the

eyes of your _fidanzato_."

"_Grazie Signorina_, a thousand thanks! And may your _innamorato_ be as

faithful as you are beautiful."

"Faithful," repeated Ragna to herself when she had closed the door

behind the retreating form of the maid. "What is faithlessness,--memory?

For us there can be no other."

It pleased her to think of her romance as set apart from the common lot.

"It is an oasis in the desert," she thought,--"it will be as he says,

something to look back on all our lives."

For a long time she lay awake, gazing into the dark, her pulses

throbbing as she thought of his kisses.

CHAPTER IV

The end of Carnival was approaching and many shops displayed dominoes,

masks and various disguises and travesties in their windows. The merry

madness was in the air and all Rome was keyed up to a pitch of wild

gaiety, so soon to relapse into devotional gloom.

Fru Bjork had taken tickets to the _veglione_ in the Costanzi Theatre,

and Astrid was wild with anticipation. She raged at the indifference

displayed by Ragna, who was so absorbed in her fool's Paradise that the

_veglione_ might as well not have existed. Her detachment was the more

noticeable as even Estelle Hagerup had caught the contagion of

excitement and was feverishly weighing the rival advantages of a

pea-green domino and a purple one. Astrid had chosen pale blue, but

Ragna when pressed decided on black.

She had promised to spend the day of the _veglione_ with Prince Mirko.

They were to drive out into the country, far from the noisy

merry-making, and though he had not said so, she felt that it was to be

their last day together--the time for separation was approaching, the

end of the idyll at hand.

So on the morning of that fateful _mardi gras_ she met him, as arranged,

by the Pantheon. He was waiting with a _botte_, drawn by two strong

little Maremmano horses with pheasant feathers stuck in their

head-stalls and tinkling bells on the harness. The driver, a bronzed

aquiline featured Roman, beamed on her as she approached, having often

driven them on shorter excursions.

Mirko helped her in and took his place beside her, laying on her lap a

huge bunch of fragrant white narcissus and violets. She buried her face

in the flowers, breathing the perfume voluptuously.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Oh, quite out, over the Campagna, away from everything and everybody."

He squeezed her hand and she smiled happily.

It was warm for the season, almost sultry, as the Scirocco was blowing.

The sun was comfortably hot, but heavy clouds banking the horizon

promised rain before night-fall.

They drove out the Via Appia past the tomb of Cecilia Metella; the green

grass springing fresh between the mortuary tablets bordering the way,

and from the walls showed the rapid advance of spring, and as they left

the city farther behind, the whole Campagna in new radiance of colour

appeared to them as a bride arrayed for her wedding day. The pale pink

of the almond blossom in delicate tracery against the deep blue of the

sky, the rich dark ilexes with light green tender shoots, the silvery

grey of the olives, all looked more like a fairy picture than anything

that could possibly be real. This awakening of Nature, this decking out

of all the Earth in bridal array, could not but have its effect on the

lovers. All creation was breaking into bud and blossom, the spirit of

love permeated the very air with the mysterious intoxication of the new

running sap in the trees, the awakening to life of the flowers, the song

of the birds. It was the mating season.

Mirko and Ragna sat in silence, his right hand closed on her left; she

felt strong vibrations passing from his hand to hers, she was burning

with a vague mysterious excitement too deep for expression.

Mirko's eyes were fixed on her face; he watched her colour come and go,

noted the soft shadow of her lashes on her cheek; the impulse of spring

flamed in his blood. The tantalising nearness of the girl was too much

for his fiery southern temperament, he was rapidly losing his head.

They drove far out over the Campagna, until the city behind them was

swallowed up in the undulations of the great grassy plain. Groups of

people bound citywards passed them, many of them enlivening the way with

snatches of song. A soft damp breeze laden with the composite spring

fragrance blew up from the sea. Presently a turn of the road brought

them to an old acqueduct; many of the arches lay in ruins, but here and

there groups of them still intact, stood upright in the sunshine. Ragna

looking at them suddenly remembered her dream on board the _Norje_, and

Ingeborg's prediction. Were these the actual stone arches of her dream?

She glanced at Mirko; his eyes were devouring her, they had a wolfish

expression; a shiver of fear passed over her and she drew her hand from

his in a quick gesture of alarm.

"Oh, don't look at me like that! You frighten me. Your eyes look like

the eyes of a wild beast, as if you wanted to tear me limb from limb."

Mirko flushed and his expression changed.

"Silly!" he said, but his voice was hoarse and sounded strange in her

ears. "Silly! May I not look at you? Do you know that you are very

beautiful to-day? I must fill my eyes with your dear image, so that I

may have you with me always,--even when you are far away."

Ragna partially reassured, glanced at him shyly through her lashes.

"You really did frighten me, you looked so fierce, so--so hungry!"

He laughed. "I am hungry--hungry for you. But that is nothing new!"

They relapsed into silence again, but there was a strange constraint

upon them. The sun's rays were very hot with that sickly heat felt just

before a shower. The scent of the narcissus rose insistent and too

sweet. Ragna felt uneasy; although Mirko was outwardly the same as he

had always been, she divined a change in him, a mysterious subtle change

that set him over against her as an enemy from whom she must defend

herself. She could not explain to herself this newborn antagonism, she

only felt it dimly,--and at the same time there arose riotous within her

the call of the springtide, urging her towards him.

The vetturino drew up jingling before the door of an _osteria_,--that of

the "_Sora Nanna_," the sign proclaimed. Some deal tables and benches

stood under the budding pergola, and at them a few _contadini_ on their

way to the festa were indulging in modest libations of "_vino dei

Castelli_"--advertised at thirty, forty and fifty _centesimi_ the

measure, on placards hanging at the entrance.

As the _botte_ drew up to the door, the hostess, a stout, wholesome

looking woman appeared, bowing and wiping her hands on her apron.

"The Signori would descend? Luncheon? Most certainly,--their

Excellencies should be served immediately--Maria! wring the neck of a

chicken! Would their Excellencies eat in the common room, in the sala,

with contadini? There was a most clean and _conveniente_ chamber above,

where they would be much better, _non è vero_?"

She bustled in ahead of them, shooing chickens as she went, and

chattering volubly. They followed her through the brick-paved kitchen,

gloomy, after the bright light outside. One end of it was taken up by an

immense brick stove, in which were sunk numerous wells for charcoal. A

large pot bubbled merrily on one of these and most savoury odours arose

from a collection of copper stew-pans of all sizes. Hams, salami and

bunches of herbs hung from the smoky rafters. A girl with large hoop

earrings and a bright kerchief about her neck was sitting on a low stool

peeling potatoes and singing lustily the song of the "_Ciociara_"--"_E

quando la Ciociara si marita_"--she sang to the rollicking air. A ray of

sunlight coming through the window gilded her hair and touched the coral

beads on her round brown throat.

Sora Nanna led the way up a stone stair to a large light upper chamber.

The floor like that of the kitchen was of bare brick well scrubbed, a

table stood in the centre with some straight-backed chairs. On the walls

hung prints of Garibaldi, King Umberto and Queen Margherita taken at the

time of their marriage, and Vittorio Emanuele II with a fierce moustache

and a truculent eye. A couch stood against the wall, and in the far

corner a large white bed flanked by a primitive dressing-table. Ragna

shrank back, but the hostess bustled cheerfully forward.

"Many _cacciatori_, Signori of Rome and _forestieri_ have I entertained

here," she said, throwing open the windows. "Ah, they all know the Sora

Nanna's cellar and the _frittata_. A _frittata_ with artichokes, that is

what I shall give your Excellencies!"

"I would rather go downstairs," whispered Ragna.

"Come now," said Mirko, "you can't sit in the kitchen with the

contadini! This room is clean and it will do very well."

"Can't we sit outside under the pergola?"

Mirko pointed to the clouds fast obscuring the sunshine. "It will be

raining in a few minutes."

Ragna thought it would be foolish to object further, and she tried to

throw off the uneasy feeling that possessed her.

"Your Excellencies shall be served in half an hour," said the hostess,

as she bustled out, shaking her head at the madness of people who came

out to the country when they might be enjoying the Carnival in Rome.

Ragna went to one of the windows and leaned on the sill, looking out.

The vetturino was leading his horses to a shed in the rear, and Maria,

the girl who had been singing in the kitchen, was displaying a generous

expanse of red stocking as she pursued an elusive chicken. The contadini

under the arbour below made merry at her expense and praised her

well-developed charms and neat ankles.

The Campagna rolled away as far as the eye could reach, an inland sea of

grass, dotted here and there with trees; far away the broken acqueduct

straggled across it. The fleeting shadows chased each other over the

rolling surface as the clouds gathered, and the air was damp and sultry,

charged with the sweet scent of spring, stealing over the senses like

mellow wine. Mirko came up behind Ragna as she stood and kissed her neck

behind the ear where the short hairs made golden tendrils. She thrilled

at the touch of his lips but did not turn her head. During these days of

their pseudo betrothal, she had gradually grown accustomed to various

loverlike familiarities, which from day to day had become more daring,

and she had come to accept as natural, liberties on the part of her

lover, from which she would have recoiled, shocked and horrified, ten

days earlier. In love as in everything else, it is the first step that

costs.

"Why do you not take off your hat, dear?" said Mirko. "It will be so

much cosier if you take off your hat. We will pretend we are on our

honeymoon.--Come! let us be quite mad and gay--remember it is Carnival!"

The words suited her mood; suddenly she felt reckless, she smiled her

answer.

"Wait here a minute," said Mirko and he bounded down the stair. Ragna

quickly unpinned her hat, and laid it on the dressing table, she fluffed

up her hair where it had been crushed, and went back to the window,

watching with amused sympathy the merry party below. Her spirits had

recovered from the depression of a few moments since, she felt daring,

buoyed up by a strange sensation of irresponsibility--the spring was

having its effect on her also.

Presently Mirko returned, followed by the bouncing Maria who set the

table still humming her song. Ragna caught the words.

"_E se vuoi la robba mia, è certo che caro la devi pagar!_"

"That is a very jolly song," said Ragna.

"Si, signora," said Maria showing her even white teeth in a broad

smile.--"It is sung all through Ciociaria and everywhere!" She ran down

to the kitchen and reappeared bearing a large bowl of steaming _gnocchi_

and two cobwebby bottles of gold-coloured wine.

"Come," said Mirko, "your Ladyship is served."

Ragna laughingly took her place at the table and they both fell to with

healthy appetites. Mirko saw that Ragna's glass was kept replenished

with the wine. "_Proprio di dietro i fagotti_," the hostess had declared

it. After the gnocchi came stewed chicken and potatoes, then the famous

_frittata_ with artichokes and a salad, then cheese, and finally, Maria

having asked if the Signori wished anything more, retired, closing the

door after her.

The wine was singing in Ragna's ears, and her face was flushed, it

seemed to her that she was in a dream in which she had become two

distinct persons,--one a long way off, watching as at a play, what the

other Ragna did. Mirko rose from his chair and led her to the couch

where he seated himself beside her. He drew her head down on his

shoulder and holding her close to him murmured his love in her ear. His

nearness, his kisses and the low, passionate vibration of his voice

overpowered her; she felt all power of resistance slip from her, his

personality, his desire dominated her entirely; her lips parted, she

closed her eyes, her senses swam. As in a dream, his lips found hers,

she felt the heat of his breath scorching her face, a wild flame surged

through her veins,--a brief almost unconscious struggle and she lay

unresisting in his arms.

When she came to herself again a sudden gloom pervaded the place. Large

drops of rain splashed on the window-sill. She watched them idly a

moment, then her eyes wandered to the other window where Mirko stood

leaning, pulling at his moustache, then down to herself. Suddenly a gulf

of realization and shame overwhelmed her. With a hasty hand she

straightened out her skirts, then flung herself down, sobbing, her

burning face hidden in the cushion.

At the sound Mirko turned and came towards her, an exceedingly sheepish

expression on his handsome face.

"Don't, love!" he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. She writhed

away from him.

"Don't, dear," he repeated awkwardly, and as the girl paid no attention,

he knelt at her side and kissed all that was visible of one ear. She sat

up, wild-eyed and disheveled.

"Oh, how could you?" she sobbed, "oh, why did you do it? Oh, how can I

ever look anyone in the face again!"

She flung herself down again, her voice lost in a paroxysm of grief.

Mirko bit his moustache; scenes of this kind annoyed him terribly and

now that his fever had passed he could think of nothing to say.

Presently Ragna faced him once more.

"You despise me, don't you?" she asked.

"Never! Never in the world, my darling!" he cried but his voice carried

no conviction. "I owe you all gratitude!"

"Oh!" she said, her eyes widening, a hard look coming over her face,

"oh!"

He lifted her limp hand and kissed it.

"I am your devoted slave,--you have given me the greatest proof of

love--"

"What are you going to do about it?" she interrupted.

"Do about it. What is there to do? The memory of this--"

"Ah, so it is already a memory to you! To me it is dishonour."

"My dear child, nothing of the sort! We loved each other, we lost our

heads,--there is no dishonour, no one need know."

His ineffectual manner struck her like a blow. Covering her face with

her hands she burst into fresh sobs.

Mirko like all men, hated above all things a scene; he began to feel

angry, revengeful even, the more so as his conscience reproached him. He

said in a hard voice:

"Look here, Ragna, you are not a fool, you knew I could not marry you--"

Her scornful eyes stopped him; he shrugged his shoulders.

"My dear girl, if you had not wished--I have never taken a woman against

her will--"

"You coward!" she said her eyes blazing.

He rose and strolling to the window carefully chose a cigarette from his

case and as carefully lit it, but in spite of himself his hands

trembled. Ragna sat immovable on the sofa as though turned to stone. The

rain pattered softly on the window-sill and the warm heavy dampness

invaded the room. Below, in the kitchen, someone was clattering pots and

pans, and Maria's voice took up the refrain of the "Ciociara." The

lively tune rose, a ghastly mockery, and Ragna smiled at the irony of

it, then a fresh wave of despair swept over her, her shaken nerves gave

way, and dropping her head on her folded hands she wept disconsolately

and brokenly. The forlornness of her attitude, the bowed head with its

dishevelled mass of golden hair, the slender shoulders heaving with

noiseless sobs touched Mirko; he threw his cigarette out of the window

with an angry gesture and paced up and down the long narrow room,

tugging at his moustache and knitting his brows. The mood of brutality

like that of a sated animal had passed and a reaction of something very

like shame, set in--shame be it said, not for having taken advantage of

a confiding girl, but for the unchivalrous cynicism of his subsequent

conduct which he could see no way of glossing over. A woman may forgive

passion, brutality even, but not the poisoned barb of cynicism. His

vanity refused to consider the situation irretrievable notwithstanding,

and he paused beside the weeping girl.

"Ragna," he said, "forgive me! I have behaved like a brute and I deserve

to be kicked."

The accent of sincere regret in his voice was like balm to the girl's

wounds; by his self-abasement she might recover a semblance, at least,

of self-respect that would help her to tide over the present necessity.

In a half subconscious way she realized that death does not come through

the wishing for it, that a situation no matter how terrible must be

lived through somehow,--but oh, to be alone!

"Poor child," said Mirko, stroking the silky waves of her hair, "I must

have been mad! Will you not believe that I was mad, dear,--and forget

all that I would have you forget?"

He knelt beside her putting one arm about her; with his free hand he

forced her head up from her locked fingers and would have kissed the

tears away, but she drew back with horror.

"Oh, no! Never again!"

"Ragna," he pleaded, "but you love me?"

"I did love you--once," she said in a toneless voice. "I did love

you--too much."

"No, dearest, not too much--" he started but stopped silenced by the

expression of her eyes.

"God knows," he said impulsively, "that I would give my life not to have

hurt you! You were too beautiful,--you maddened me!"

She smiled a little scornfully, very sadly, and the smile condemned him

in his own consciousness; in her eyes he saw reflected for the first

time the futility of his declarations, the shallow selfishness of his

nature. It seemed to him that he shrivelled morally under her gaze. To

Ragna he had become a stranger, the dream hero was shattered

irremediably; the scales had fallen from her eyes and with a pitilessly

clear vision she had seen the paltry egoism of the man's soul. Something

had snapped within her,--a light had gone out; she wondered dully if

anything could matter very much again.

Mirko rose to his feet rather unsteadily and poured himself a glass of

wine; as he raised it to his lips someone knocked on the door and he

started, spilling half the contents of the glass. Maria's voice called

cheerfully.

"The vetturino wants to know at what hour the Signori will start, it is

getting late."

"Tell him we will start as soon as he is ready and send me the

_addizione_," answered Mirko. He gulped down his wine, and then poured

out another glass and carried it over to Ragna.

"Drink this," he ordered and she obeyed mechanically.

"Now," he said, "put on your hat and smooth your hair a little; don't

let these people guess anything."

Ragna flushed, but her pride was touched as he had meant it to be. She

rose with an effort and walked lifelessly over to the dressing-table.

She wet the corner of her handkerchief in the jug and dabbled it on her

dark-ringed reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks; taking out a little

comb from the back of her hair she straightened up her stray locks and

resettled her heavy plaits. She put on her hat and tied over it a thick

blue veil she found in the pocket of her ulster. When she had finished,

she walked to a chair, passing the couch with a shudder, and sat down

dully.

Maria entered presently, carrying the bill on a plate; she looked

curiously from the apathetic girl, shrouded in her heavy veil, to the

self-possessed young man,--they were not like any lovers she had seen.

"They must have quarreled," was her reflection. Mirko paid the modest

bill and added a generous mancia at which the girl's eyes sparkled, and

she thanked him effusively.

"Is the carriage ready?" he inquired.

"_Sissignore, eccola quà!_" As she spoke they heard the little trap

rattling and jingling as it drew up outside. Mirko turned to Ragna:

"If you are ready, we will go."

She rose and avoiding his proffered hand, preceded him quickly down the

stair and across the kitchen, walking head down, with a furtive air as

though trying to escape observation. Maria and the hostess smiled

significantly at each other as she passed.

She climbed unaided into the carriage and drew her skirts aside as Mirko

entered. The hood was drawn up and a large water-proof apron covered

their knees, another water-proof strip was fastened at one end to the

hood and at the other to the large umbrella that sheltered the driver,

so that they were almost in the dark and entirely shielded from the

curious gaze of passers-by.

They sat in an oppressive silence; Ragna, her hands clasped on her

knees, her eyes looking straight before her, her mouth set in a hard

line, barely discernible through the thick veil. Mirko was most

uncomfortable, and could think of nothing to say or do to relieve the

situation. Finally, in desperation, he asked her permission to light a

cigarette; she shrugged her shoulders in complete indifference and made

no answer; he lit one and puffed away moodily, every now and again

casting furtive glances at the girl's averted profile. She sat quite

motionless, only shuddering slightly as they passed the ruined

acqueduct. "The hare is run to earth," she thought bitterly. The drive

seemed interminable; the carriage bumped on endlessly over the bad

roads, the rain pattered unceasingly on the lowered hood, the driver

urged on his steaming beasts in endless monotone--and so on and on and

on. It was like a long bad dream.

As they came into the city, the rain stopped, but the air was heavy with

a damp, soggy mist through which the street lamps glowed, each set in a

luminous halo. The streets were full of a noisy merry crowd and the

carriage made slow progress. Once it stopped altogether and a masked

Pierrot climbed up on one step, a gay Harlequin on the other while a

very masculine _ballerina_ in draggled pink tarletan installed herself

or himself beside the driver.

"_Tò!_" said the Pierrot, and blew out a long paper sausage that

squeaked as it collapsed; the Harlequin emptied a shovelful of confetti

over the silent pair.

"Who is the mysterious princess?" squeaked the Pierrot, "Unveil! unveil,

fair one!"

As Ragna paid no attention he snatched her veil from her face and fell

into a pose of ecstatic mock admiration. Ragna threw herself back,

alarmed.

"Here!" said Mirko, starting up angrily, "I won't have this! Let the

lady alone, will you? Get down!"

"Pray, be more courteous!" mouthed Arlecchino, "_In carnevale ogni

scherzo vale._" The crowd shrieked approval.

"Here, then," said Mirko, diving into his pocket and bestowing a gold

piece on each masker, "go and drink to the health of your '_carnevale_'

with this."

The _ballerina_ poked a long red cardboard nose down under the hood,

squeaking in high falsetto.

"And poor Colombina? Don't forget poor Colombina!"

Mirko found another gold piece for Colombina and the three masks jumped

down shouting joyously.

"_Evviva gli sposi!_"

The crowd took up the cry and it rang after the retreating carriage.

Mirko looked at Ragna deprecatingly, but meeting her scornful eyes,

turned his own away.

When at last they reached the Piazza Montecitorio he insisted on helping

her out, and holding her fast by the hand, asked her:

"Do you really hate me then, after all?"

She drew her hand away from him, and without looking at him said

"Good-bye" with a finality of accent not to be mistaken; then the

_portone_ swallowed her up. Mirko, with a muttered oath clambered back

into the carriage and drove to his hotel. As he entered the lobby he

encountered the unexpected form of Angelescu.

"When did you come?" he asked in surprise.

"At noon, and I have been waiting for you ever since. I have a message

for you from the King--" he spoke the last word in a whisper.

"The devil you have! What's up?"

"You'll know soon enough," said the other significantly.

"Am I to be restored to grace?"

"Oh, yes, but there is a certain amount of humble-pie to be eaten first.

Also they are determined to clip your wings for the future--there is

question of a marriage."

"Marriage--whew! Who is the lady, may I ask?"

Angelescu named a princess, Mirko's senior by several years and not

renowned for her good looks. Mirko made a wry face.

"His Majesty is awfully keen on it, and if you were to upset the

arrangement by any fresh escapades, I fancy your bed would not be of

roses for some time to come--I hope you haven't been getting into any

scrapes here?" He looked suspiciously at Mirko's tell-tale countenance.

"Come along, old man," said Mirko putting his arm through Angelescu's.

"There is nothing very terrible--and nothing to be very proud of either;

I'll tell you all about it presently. By the way I want you to do

something for me to-night. I want you to take a message to a lady at the

_veglione_."

"Why don't you go yourself?"

"I would rather not,--it might be embarrassing for both of us." He

laughed uneasily. "Do you remember that little Andersen girl we met on a

steamer the year we went to St. Petersburg?"

He felt Angelescu's arm stiffen under his, and had the light been

stronger, he would have seen the bronzed cheek pale. They had reached

Mirko's room and entered, closing the door after them.

CHAPTER V

As Ragna entered the pension Astrid came out of the drawing-room to meet

her.

"Oh, Ragna, where on earth have you been all day? We have been so

anxious! We were afraid you were lost or kidnapped or something. And the

dominoes have come, do come and try yours on!"

"The dominoes?" asked Ragna dully.

"Why Ragna Andersen! The dominoes for the _veglione_!" She turned and

looked at Ragna attentively as they passed under a swinging lamp in the

passage.

"Ragna, you are ill!" she cried, "you are as white as a sheet! What has

happened?"

"Nothing," said Ragna, "I got caught in the carnival crowd and pushed

about--that's all, and I am tired out."

"Well, in the name of common sense, what made you stay out all day when

you knew we were going to the _veglione_ to-night? I believe you won't

be able to go at all!"

"Oh, yes I shall," said Ragna, making a desperate effort to pull herself

together--no one must know, no one guess her secret! "Astrid, do be an

angel--if I rest quietly for two or three hours I shall be as fit as

ever--do explain it to your mother and Hagerup, and have some dinner

sent me in my room. I want to lie down, and I won't have time if I have

to dress for dinner. Do now, there's a dear!"

"Very well," assented Astrid, "you do look done up, you poor thing!"

But she shook her head as she turned away from Ragna's door. "I don't

like this business," she said to herself; "there's something wrong,

she's not a bit like her old self!" She was thinking of Ragna's calm

assurance and self-sufficiency in Christiania, so far removed from her

present almost apologetic manner.

Ragna, alone at last, turned the key in the door; she swept to the floor

the black domino laid on her bed, and flinging herself face-downward

among the pillows, writhed in a frenzy of grief and shame, the fruit of

long hours of suppression. It seemed to her that her very soul must be

contaminated. "Oh, fool! Oh, blind fool that I was!" she moaned, and

strained her arms till shoulder and elbow cracked. Suddenly she rose,

and marching over to the dressing-table, gazed long and searchingly at

herself in the glass. The redness and puffiness of her eyelids had

disappeared during the long drive, but there were dark purple circles

under the eyes, she was terribly pale and her mouth and features

generally, had a hard, drawn look. "Fool!" she cried again and burying

her face in her hands, began to weep. It did not last long however, she

soon dashed the tears away, angrily. "It's no use crying over spilt

milk!" With a sort of rage she tore off her clothes, trampling them on

the floor,--were they not witnesses, accomplices almost? Then she

washed, and it seemed to her that she hated her beautiful white body;

all that she was, all that she had become, sickened her.

She slipped on a dressing gown and lay down on the bed, quite

motionless, staring miserably into space. Nothing was left to her,

nothing! If only Mirko had not been so horrible--afterwards! She

shuddered and ground her teeth. Oh, the shame of it, the bitter

humiliation! Her eyes burned, her throat was dry as though seared by a

hot iron, her head throbbed painfully.

Presently the maid knocked and when Ragna had unlocked the door, brought

in a tray with dinner, which she set on the table. She surveyed Ragna

with sympathy and curiosity.

"Does not the Signorina feel well? What a pity, the night of the

_veglione_!"

"Thank you, Rosa, I am a little tired; I daresay I shall be quite rested

in an hour or so," answered Ragna bitterly.

"Shall I not bring the Signorina a glass of Marsala?"

"No, thank you," said Ragna, but the maid had already flown off and

returned very quickly with a glass of the topaz-coloured wine.

"Here, drink this, Signorina, it is very good when one is tired, it will

warm you up!" She was not to be denied, and to please her Ragna drained

the little glass. Rosa was right, she felt it warming her veins; a tinge

of colour crept to her cheeks, and she managed to swallow a little food.

Then she lay down again, and what with the wine and the fatigue fell

asleep, and slept until Rosa returned to help her dress.

Rosa, as she watched the Signorina's purple shadowed eyes, said to

herself.

"_Macchè fatigue!_ Displeasure of love, that is what it is!" She prided

herself on her perspicacity where affairs of the heart were concerned,

and sighed deeply to show her sympathy.

Ragna stood apathetically while the maid hooked up her bodice. She wore

a simple white frock, very youthful and girlish, and the low neck and

short sleeves displayed her pretty shoulders and rounded, slender arms

to advantage.

She had thought with pleasure of Mirko's seeing her in it, for she had

told him by what sign to recognise her, and he was to have come masked

to the ball to dance with her.

"The Signorina lacks but the veil to be a bride!" said Rosa admiringly.

Ragna shuddered and grew paler than before, if that were possible.

"The Signorina is beautiful, as she is, but if she will take my advice,

she should put on a little rouge, she is too pale."

Ragna looked at herself in the mirror,--she was heavy eyed and white,

far too white. The virginal whiteness of her frock, the pure pale face

and pale gold hair seemed a pitiful mockery to her. She was glad when

Rosa laid the black domino about her shoulders though it made her face

look ghastly.

There was a sound of voices and laughter in the passage, and Ragna

quickly snatched up her black mask and adjusted it as Astrid and Estelle

entered the room.

"Ready, Ragna?"

"Yes," she answered, bending for Rosa to draw the domino hood over her

head and fasten it with a pin.

Estelle turned herself about before the cheval-glass; her green domino,

trimmed with black lace, was too short for her, and showed a good three

inches of grey skirt at the hem; it was too full and made awkward bunchy

folds about her and she wore a green mask with a frill of black lace,

which fluttered as she breathed through her mouth,--however, she was

quite satisfied with her appearance.

Astrid wore her light blue domino with coquettish grace and the small

white loup hardly disguised her features; she had not yet pulled up the

hood, and her fair hair curled prettily over her small head. Ragna also

wore a _loup_, a black velvet one: she wished now that she had chosen a

mask like Estelle's--anything to hide her, for her chin would quiver in

spite of all her efforts.

Fru Bjork followed the girls into the room, very imposing in heliotrope,

and grumbling at the necessity of wearing a mask.

"So hot! So stuffy! I can't breathe now, and I imagine what it will be

in that place!" She was already fanning herself vigorously. "I'm quite

as excited as you girls! Dear me, I hope it will be all just right--I

should be more comfortable though, I admit, if we had a gentleman with

us."

"You might have asked the man with the striped trousers, Mother,--I

should think those stripes would carry him through anything!"

"Why should you make fun of the poor man?" asked Estelle. "I am sure he

has been most polite. He has taken a great deal of trouble in inquiring

about singing lessons for me, and he sings so sweetly himself. Didn't

you like that song of his last evening about some '_Paese lontano dal

mar_'?"

"He has a good voice," said Ragna.

"But his trousers drown it!" laughed Astrid. "Come on, all of you, it is

time to start!"

Fru Bjork led the way, burly in her domino, Estelle after her, and the

other two followed, Astrid keeping up a gay chatter which saved Ragna

the effort of conversation. They packed themselves into the waiting

carriage, and in a few minutes alighted at the Costanzi.

It was early as yet and the crowd was thin, but more people were

arriving all the time, some in fancy costume, but most of them in

dominoes. Fru Bjork marshalled her party to the box she had taken,--it

was in the second tier, near the stage, and there was a table in it as

they were to have supper served from Aragno's. Estelle and Astrid

pressed to the front of the box, and Ragna sat down on the little bench

at the side, behind Astrid.

"Why, Ragna, child," said Fru Bjork, "don't you want to see what's going

on, now you're here?"

"I am still a little tired," she answered, "and there is not much to see

now, by and by it will be more interesting."

Astrid turned her head.

"What on earth made you such a fool as to tire yourself all out in the

crowd to-day?"

Ragna thought she detected a note of suspicion in the question and a

wave of terror swept over her,--suppose someone were to guess? She made

an effort and answered jestingly, forcing the note. Fortunately the

attention of the party was soon taken up with the scene below, leaving

her to her own thoughts. The boxes were rapidly filling, and on the

floor below a variegated crowd surged to and fro. Near the entrance a

number of young men in evening dress and without masks, scanned

curiously the entering dominoes, sometimes accosting them, and sometimes

being accosted in the conventional falsetto. Marguérites, Columbines,

peasant-girls, flower-girls abounded, and the air seemed thick with

Pierrots. All the women, without exception, were masked, and it gave

them an assurance, not to say audacity of manner very different from

that of ordinary occasions. They were daring, _provocantes_, insolent

even, and the young men enjoyed it hugely. A babel of voices and

laughter rose from the throng, almost drowning the orchestra, but as yet

all was orderly and quiet. Women in dominoes walked about in pairs,

stopping to talk to men, often separating, and joining other groups. It

was a human kaleidescope.

Ragna leaned over Estelle's shoulder and gazed apprehensively about; she

did not see the face she feared, however, and sank back into her place.

"Surely he would not have the courage to come here--now," she thought.

He was to have come masked, wearing a tuberose in his button-hole and

carrying one in his left hand. If he should come notwithstanding, what

should she do? At least, she thought, her mask was a protection,--there

would be no necessity for recognising him.

The door of the box opened and an attaché of the Swedish-Norwegian

Legation entered, bowing. He was a distant connection of Fru Bjork's,

and had come to offer his services to the ladies. His attentions to

Astrid had long been joked about by the others, and it may be said that

Astrid did not discourage them. "So convenient to have him

about,--besides he is a sort of cousin," she had said to her Mother,

when that lady remonstrated with her on the subject. So Count Lotten was

made welcome and Fru Bjork invited him to sup with them. He promptly

accepted and set about earning his salt by pointing out such well-known

people as he recognised.

As the time passed the scene grew livelier, dancers filled the centre of

the floor, cutting the most surprising capers, one Pierrot in particular

drawing the applause of the spectators by his daring antics. No one

seemed to resent the liberties he took, the whisper having gone about

that he was the young Prince C---- a spoilt darling of the Roman

aristocracy, Count Lotten told the ladies, and Astrid sighed.

"I do wish I knew a prince, if they are like that! It must be awfully

amusing." Ragna's lip curled, but she said nothing.

Supper was being served in the boxes, and presently the waiters laid the

table and set out the oysters and gallantine and the other good things

Fru Bjork had ordered. Ragna could not eat, but the champagne did her

good, and she clinked glasses with the others and joked in so lively a

way as to set Fru Bjork's mind quite at rest on her account. Gaiety was

in the air, the merry din became deafening. As the girl looked about she

interpreted it to herself. "Let us eat, drink and be merry, for

to-morrow we die!" A feverish excitement seized her; her lips burned and

her eyes glittered through the mask, she had unhooked her domino at the

neck on account of the heat, and her white throat throbbed in its black

frame. Astrid expressed a desire to walk about below and Ragna seconded

her--she felt that she must get up and move about, or she must scream.

Count Lotten offered himself as escort.

"It will be quite proper," he assured Fru Bjork, "I shall be responsible

for the young ladies' safety,--in half an hour we shall be back here

again."

He told Astrid to take his arm and let Ragna take hers,--"and be sure to

stick together."

Down on the floor they pushed as best they could through the excited,

perspiring crowd, laughing, shrieking, gesticulating, mad with the

Carnival. Astrid laughed excitedly.

"I should like one turn, just one turn of this valse," she pleaded.

Lotten smiled down at her.

"But it is impossible, we can't leave Fröken Ragna!"

"Oh," said Ragna, "please don't stop on my account! I shall stand

against the side here, under this box, and be quite safe. You can come

back for me here!"

The Count hesitated but the desire for a dance with Astrid overcame his

scruples and he acquiesced. Ragna took up her position under the box, as

she had said, and Lotten and Astrid whirled past, then were swallowed up

in the crowd.

Ragna stood watching the brilliant scene. The noise and the recurrent

rhythm of the dance music aroused a certain wildness within her,--the

latent savagery hidden in the hearts of all of us. As the tide rose

within her she grew defiant and reckless--she had lost that which a girl

holds most precious, why should she observe any restraint, had not the

bonds of conventionality been snapped for her? Would she not be

justified in flinging all constraint to the winds, in giving free rein

to the wildest impulses of her nature? "It's of no use keeping the

stable-door locked when the horse is stolen," she reflected bitterly.

Her foot tapped the floor in time to the music, the whirling crowd

fascinated her, drew her as to a vortex, it was a critical moment. "_He_

had no scruples, why should I have any henceforward?" she asked herself.

"'_Carpe diem_,' he used to say,--well, I say it now and I mean it!" She

stepped out from the wall.

Suddenly a band of maskers emerged from the crowd, thrown from it like

the spray from the crest of a wave, they surrounded Ragna, holding one

another by the hand, forming a chain about her. One of them, a tall man

disguised as Mephistopheles, stepped into the ring and the others

capered about them, gibbering.

"_Bella mascherina!_" squeaked the Mephisto. Ragna smiled at the

challenge and the masker thus encouraged, came close to her.

"_Ti conosco, mascherina!_" he said.

Ragna shook her head laughingly.

"Impossible!"

"What, not recognise the most beautiful mouth in Rome! Già!" The man's

tone was insolent.

"Go away!" said Ragna.

"Don't be rude, _mascherina_! I won't betray you--I can keep a secret as

well as anyone!"

"Go away!" repeated Ragna, her defiant feeling of a few moments earlier

giving way to nervous apprehension. Why had she left the shelter of the

wall, why exposed herself to the impertinence of half-tipsy maskers?

Impertinence,--her position of a young woman apparently alone at a

masked ball invited it!

"You really want me to go away? Very well, my little dove,--when you

have given me a kiss. A favour for a favour, you know!" He crooked his

arm and minced nearer. The dancing circle of red imps burst into

laughter.

Ragna turned and tried to break through the ring.

"No, you don't," said Mephisto with a leer, laying his hand on her arm,

"not so fast, sweet one! You shall give me that little kiss first!"

Ragna, really frightened, threw herself away from her tormentor; he was

clutching a fold of her domino and the fastenings at the neck gave way;

he pulled it back baring her white shoulder and her fair head.

"Bella! Bella! give us each a kiss!" shrieked the imps, and

Mephistopheles, leaning forward pressed his lips on the smooth shoulder

nearest him.

At that moment a tall figure burst through the ring, scattering the imps

right and left, and seizing the Mephisto by the collar dragged him back

and flung him aside. The masker turned with an oath but seeing the

height and strength of his assailant and realizing that discretion is

sometimes the better part of valour, bowed low with a mocking laugh and

disappeared into the crowd followed by his attendant demons in search of

fresh amusement.

Ragna, clutching her domino about her, raised her eyes to her rescuer's

face and uttered an involuntary exclamation:

"Count Angelescu! You here!"

"Mademoiselle Andersen!" he said, "I had been watching you for some

time, but I was not sure, there are so many black dominoes. Then when

those devils--but never mind, since I have found you. Take my arm and

let me get you out of this; I must talk to you and it is impossible

here!"

It was quite true, he could hardly make himself heard above the din; the

fun was fast and furious, pandemonium reigned.

She took his arm and he piloted her skilfully through the crowd and

round the corridor to an empty box, where he set a chair for her with

its back to the house, and closed the door. She paused a moment to

rearrange her hood and sat down; Angelescu took a chair facing her.

There was a moment's embarrassed silence, then Angelescu moistened his

lips and began.

"I do not exactly know how to put what I have to say, it is very

difficult for me. A certain person asked me to come here on his

behalf--"

"Then you know--all?"

"Is it true?"

She bowed her head.

"It is?"

"Yes."

A groan escaped him.

"Oh, the infernal blackguard! I would not believe it until I had heard

it from your own lips. Oh, why was I not in time--I might have saved

you! And now it is too late."

Ragna was silent.

"But that is not the message I was told to deliver. He wishes to offer

you compensation,--any sum you care to name."

"Compensation! To me!" Ragna half rose from her chair.

"Wait! wait! I beg of you! It is an insult, I know that--but it is not

from me, it is an order. I had to get it over! Oh, don't!"

Ragna had dropped her face in her hands and was weeping as though her

heart were broken, but the tears were of rage rather than of grief.

"Compensation! How dare he!"

"Listen, Mademoiselle, listen! Ragna, don't cry like that! Listen to

what I have to say to you! That was my official message, but this is

what I really come to say." His face was pale and his eyes blazed.

"Ragna I have loved you ever since we first met,--I love you still--"

She interrupted him with an hysterical laugh.

"What, you too! This is too funny!"

"Ragna, don't! I love you--"

"Don't talk to me about love, I have learned what that means!" She now

sat stiffly, her head held upright.

"Poor child," he said gravely, "my love is not of that kind, I want to

marry you, Ragna."

"But you don't understand," she cried, "surely you can't know, or you

would not say that!"

"I do know," he said, still very gravely, "I know all, and because I

realize that you are a victim, because I love you really and want to

have the power to protect you, I ask you plainly: will you be my wife?"

She smiled cynically. It was too much. In the light of her terrible

disillusionment she could not understand the sincerity of the man. Her

whole world had fallen in ruins about her and the dust of her broken

idol obscured her vision. Angelescu had made the fatal mistake of

delivering Mirko's message, and Ragna having found one man so utterly

vile, could not, for the moment, believe generosity or magnanimity

possible in any other. "He thinks it would be convenient to have me

married to his aide," she thought. "Find the girl a husband, and all is

comfortably arranged!" She despised Angelescu for lending himself to

such a scheme.

"I think not, thank you," she said in a hard voice.

"You are in love with him?"

"Love him? I despise him!"

"Then think well if you are doing right," he said earnestly, "in

refusing a man who not only loves you but respects you, who is, above

all things, anxious for your welfare."

"I see, you mean that beggars should not be choosers!"

He considered her compassionately, and it was in a very gentle voice

that he said:

"I know that I have not chosen a good time for this--but I had no

choice. To-morrow I must accompany the Prince," his mouth twisted as he

said it, "back to Montegria, but before going I had to see you, I had to

tell you that I love you, that I shall stand by you, that I am at your

disposal, to take, or to leave."

"Very kind of you," she answered in that cold, hard voice, so unlike her

own.

"I see that you are determined to misconstrue me," he said sadly, "and I

am sorry, for surely no man ever offered a woman a more sincere or

whole-hearted devotion than that I lay at your feet. Oh, little Ragna,

if only you would come to me, I should make you forget."

"I think, Count," interrupted Ragna, rising, "that I will go back to my

friends. Will you be good enough--"

"One moment, let me finish," said Angelescu, rising also, "will you not,

at least, hear me out?"

Ragna stopped, but did not reseat herself, so both remained standing.

"I should make it the business of my life to give you happiness, to wipe

from your memory all trace--" She made an impatient gesture. "Forgive my

clumsiness! You will not consider it? To-night you are tired, you are

worn out, perhaps you may think differently later. At least promise me

that if you change your mind you will let me know--I shall come to you

anywhere, at any time. Remember, I love you,--you need only to make the

sign and I will come. And if there ever is anything I can do to help

you, at any time,--if ever you are in trouble, remember that I am

there."

"You are very kind," she said wearily, and again moved towards the door.

This time he made no effort to detain her, but giving her his arm,

conducted her to the door of her own _palco_. She turned to take leave

of him and gave him her hand which he raised to his lips.

"Thank you for your kindness, Count," she said, adding in a clear, hard

voice: "And tell the Prince that I despise him for his message. Tell him

that no proposition he might make would be accepted."

He saw that although her voice was hard, her eyes were bright with

unshed tears,--another moment and he might have won his cause, or at

least have broken down the barrier of ice she had built about

herself,--but Ragna was afraid to trust herself further; she quickly

entered the box, closing the door behind her.

"Poor child," he murmured, "poor, poor child!"

He returned to his box, the one that Mirko had engaged for the evening,

and throwing on his greatcoat took his hat and hurried out.

It was drizzling but he did not call a cab; thrusting his hands into his

pockets, he strode up the shining, wet street, his head sunk forward. It

was true that he had loved Ragna ever since the trip on the _Norje_; her

fair head had been ever before his eyes; shining like a lode star from

afar, though he had had no thought of ever seeing her again. In his

pocketbook he carried the little pencil sketch he had made of her, and

her notes with the brief words of thanks for his New Year's cards. He

was not a sentimental man, but his mind was of a rather dogged quality.

Ragna's girlish innocence and charm had made a profound impression on

him, and that impression persisted with a curious tenacity; she had

become his ideal woman, and stood to him for all that sisters might have

been, all that he desired in the wife never to be his. To think of her

now, hurt and hardened, her innocence trampled and crushed, her girlhood

soiled beyond remedy, to think of her morally alone, stripped of the

protection of maidenhood, her wounded and suspicious pride refusing the

help of his strong arm, maddened him.

He entered the hotel and went straight to Mirko's room. The Prince was

lying on a couch, smoking, the picture of lazy comfort; the contrast

between his appearance and the visible wretchedness of the girl he had

just left added fuel to the flame of Angelescu's indignation.

"Well, Otto, what did she say?"

"She refused, as I told you she would."

"Did she? Oh, well, she'll probably console herself," he growled.

Angelescu took a step forward, his brow drawn menacingly over his

blazing eyes.

"Have you no shame?"

"My good Otto, what a question! Of course, I am overcome with shame! I

am glad the girl had the spirit to go to the ball and amuse herself--"

"How dare you--"

"Don't excite yourself, Otto, I beg! Let us say, then, she went to the

ball without amusing herself. She shows a fine, independent spirit too,

in refusing--"

"I shall forget that you are my Prince presently, and then--"

"Don't, Otto, it would be so unwise! Now what else did she have to say?

Accused me all round, eh?"

"She said nothing of you except that she despised you."

"And then? I suppose you agreed with her?"

"I asked her to be my wife."

"And she jumped at the chance?"

"She refused."

"By Jove! Refused your noble offer?"

Angelescu's face was livid, a muscle worked in his thin cheeks, his eyes

looked like a lion's about to spring; his hand crept to his side where

the hilt of his sabre should have been, but he was not in uniform; his

short hair bristled on his head; with a supreme effort he held himself

in check. His impulse was to throw himself on the other and silence his

sarcastic tongue forever, but his military discipline stood him in good

stead; the man before him was his Prince and therefore inviolable. Mirko

watched him curiously, as though measuring the strength of his

endurance. When he was able to regain control of his voice it was tense

and hard; he jerked out his sentences as though each one represented a

struggle.

"I have known you, Prince, ever since you were a baby, I have played

with you, worked with you, served you faithfully and well. I knew you to

be wild, reckless, selfish--but I never thought you would sink to this;

to ruin an innocent young girl and then turn it into a jest. I am older

than you, at your father's wish I have been brought up like a brother to

you. I have stood by you through thick and thin, no man has had a more

loyal friend and servant than I have been to you--but this is the end.

You are no longer my Prince, I shall wear your uniform no longer.

To-night we stand here, not as Prince and subject, but as man to man."

The Prince sat up.

"Nonsense, Otto! Do you mean to say that after all these years, you

would desert me on account of a girl?"

"I shall send in my papers to-morrow," said Otto, and looking the Prince

in the eyes he added, "if I were wearing my sabre now, I should break it

in your presence--you are not worthy of the service of a true blade!"

His hands made the gesture of snapping the blade over his knee; he

turned on his heel.

Mirko sprang from the couch, upsetting the little table standing by it,

with its box of cigarettes, decanter and glass. The bottle crashed to

the floor and a sticky stream of liqueur crept over the carpet.

"Otto!" he cried. The other turned stiffly.

"Otto, you are right, I don't deserve a friend like you,--I have behaved

like a blackguard. You may believe me or not,--I didn't mean to do the

girl any harm. She--she went to my head, she maddened me! Hang it all!

Why didn't she keep me at arm's length?"

"She trusted you," said Angelescu accusingly.

"Now look here, Otto, as man to man, if that girl in her heart of hearts

hadn't wished me--"

"You damned cur," flashed Angelescu, "_you_ to lay the blame on a woman!

If you say another word I shall choke you where you stand. I--"

He threw out his arm, then realizing that he could control himself no

longer, he wrenched open the door and strode out, flinging it to behind

him.

Mirko flushed angrily. That he should have humbled himself to meet this

response!

"You'll pay for that, my friend," he snarled. He turned thinking to pour

himself a glass of liqueur and the sight of the broken decanter and its

wasted contents completed his discomfiture. He was furious with

Angelescu, furious with Ragna, all the more so as he was distinctly

conscious of having played a very ugly role.

"Damn the girl, I wish I had never seen her!"

His servant, coming in response to his furious summons, met with a most

unpleasant reception; he was used, however, to acting as _souffre

douleur_ in his Royal Master's fits of anger and philosophically bore

the storm of invective hurled at his defenceless head.

The outburst had its usual calming effect on Mirko, who to do him

justice, soon felt thoroughly ashamed of himself. Most of all he

regretted the estrangement of Angelescu; from boyhood up he had always

depended on Otto's devotion and clear judgment, and to have lost such a

friend over such a foolish affair would be much too hard luck, a

punishment far in excess of his fault. The wrong done to Ragna was much

less important in his eyes; like every Don Juan, he had a contempt for

women, and now that his passion had subsided he wondered what had

attracted him in the girl, who after all was no great beauty.

"I will see what can be done to-morrow," he promised himself; he felt

even ready to humble himself if necessary, to draw Otto back to him

again, never doubting that by some means he would succeed in doing so.

But alas for his plans! When he awoke late the next morning and sent his

valet to inquire for the aide, the man came back with the announcement

that Count Angelescu had left by the early train.

CHAPTER VI

Ragna was awakened by the maid knocking at her door. She sat up holding

her throbbing head between her hands, trying to marshal in her mind the

fragmentary memories of yesterday, that seemed like bits of a bad dream.

They fell into their places, one by one,--the drive, the terrible

evening at the _veglione_, her conversation with Angelescu, the return

to her box, and the joyous welcome from her party, who were growing

anxious for her--especially Astrid, consumed by remorse, for having

deserted her in the crowd--

"And for that fool of a Lotten, who dances like a knitting-machine,

anyhow, and let me get bumped and trampled on, and dragged to pieces in

the crush!" Then the sleepy return home.

"Why don't you stop knocking, Rosa? I don't want to get up yet!" she

called fretfully.

"I have a letter for you, Signorina, it is marked '_urgent_.'"

Ragna rose wearily, and unlocked the door; Rosa brought in the breakfast

tray and set it down, then fished an envelope out of her apron pocket,

and having handed it to Ragna, left the room. She would willingly have

lingered to chatter about the _veglione_, but Ragna's manner did not

invite conversation.

Ragna relocked the door, and returned to bed to read her letter; it was

from Angelescu, and ran as follows:

"MY DEAR CHILD,

"I shall be leaving Rome in a few hours. After what has happened. I

cannot remain any longer as aide-de-camp to H. R. H. and I am

returning home to resign my commission in the service, and to see

that it takes effect immediately. After that, my plans are

undecided.

"I meant what I said to you last evening, and I refuse to consider

your answer as definite. I beg of you to take some time to think

over the proposition. I shall wait patiently for your ultimate

decision, which I hope may be in my favour. In any case, should you

ever stand in need of a friend, remember that now and always, I

shall be at your service. Unfortunately for myself, perhaps, I am

not a man who changes, and ten years from now I shall still be the

same towards you as I am to-day. A letter sent to the address in

the lower left-hand corner will find me always.

"Believe me,

"Your devoted friend and servant,"

(here followed the signature and address.)

Ragna read the letter through twice, thoughtfully. Its intentional

restraint she took for coldness. Angelescu, in his effort to suit his

language to her manner of the night before, and to avoid antagonizing

her by any untimely warmth of expression, had overreached himself for,

with her, the inevitable reaction had set in and the formality of the

letter froze the feelings in her that a greater tenderness might have

called forth. She misconstrued the delicacy of his intention, taking it

for the ceremonious chivalry of a man, who, while repenting of his

impulsive and quixotic offer, feels that he cannot withdraw it, and is

prepared to abide by it, regardless of inclination.

Going to her writing table, she answered at once.

"DEAR COUNT ANGELESCU,

"I appreciate fully the kindness and generosity of your offer, but

do not feel that I can accept it. I sincerely hope that you will

not think of breaking off your career on my account, it would seem

to me most unnecessary, as there is no real reason why you should

take up the cudgels on my behalf--especially, since I desire you

not to.

"Thanking you with all my heart for your kindness,

"I remain,

"Sincerely yours,

"RAGNA ANDERSEN."

She folded the sheet, put it in an envelope, which she addressed as

directed in Angelescu's letter, gummed down the flap, and sealed it. She

sat weighing the letter meditatively in her hand, a moment or two before

she rang the bell to call Rosa. Did something tell her that she was

throwing away her own chance of happiness, and wounding the one heart

that could really love and understand her?

After the letter had gone, she sat on at the table, resting her cheek on

the palm of her hand. It was a wet, gloomy morning, the cold light gave

the shabby pension room a dreary look; on the floor lay her clothes as

she had stepped out of them the evening before; the black domino lay

over the back of a chair, and the mask swung rakishly by one of its

elastics, from a knob of the dressing glass.

On the mantel-shelf stood a vase of half-withered flowers, whose

dropping petals littered the hearth below. Ragna took a miserable

delight in the untidiness of the room; it seemed of a piece with the

confusion of her life, a fit setting for her misery of mind and body.

Rosa entered quietly, with an armful of wood and a pine cone, and

kneeling before the fireplace, soon had a merry little blaze. Seeing

that Ragna had not touched her breakfast, she poured out a cup of

coffee, and taking it over to the girl, obliged her to drink it.

"Go back to bed, Signorina, you are still tired from the _veglione_."

Ragna shook her head, but Rosa took her by the arm, and led her gently

over, putting her to bed as though she were a child. This done, she

proceeded to straighten up the room, folding the clothes neatly and

laying them in the cupboard.

"_Ecco!_" she said, "that is better! You shall not get up for luncheon,

Signorina, I will bring you a tray here."

"You are a good soul, Rosa," said Ragna, touched by the maid's kindly

attentions.

Rosa smiled cheerfully, and went out, closing the door gently behind

her.

The fire had given Ragna an idea; she crept out of bed and took from her

writing case Angelescu's sketch of Prince Mirko, and the portraits of

him she had cut from illustrated journals. She looked at them in turn,

the handsome, smiling, indifferent face looked out from the slips of

paper, as it always had, but to her it was changed. She saw now, as she

had not before, the selfish hardness of the sensual mouth, the

nonchalant boldness of the almond-shaped eyes, the impress of

self-indulgence over the whole face. This, then, was her dream-hero,

this! Have all idols clay feet, she wondered? It was more than love she

had lost, more than innocence,--it was the ideal of all her girlhood,

all her maiden hopes and dreams. Tears filled her eyes; suddenly she

lifted the pictures to her lips, and kissed them passionately, then

dashing the tears away, she laid them, one by one on the fire, watched

them flame up and shrivel to fluttering black rags,--and crept back to

bed.

"It is over," she thought, "all over. I will put the past behind me, as

though nothing had been; it is destroyed, as the flames destroyed the

pictures. It is idiotic to pretend that one little hour of weakness can

ruin one's whole life! I shall put it behind me, I shall forget it all,

I shall wipe it from my memory. It shall not influence my life--except

that I shall be wiser in the future."

So said Ragna; she had yet to realize that the future is made up of the

past--of a thousand pasts, that one can no more wipe a past event out of

one's life, than one can discard all one's past personality, the growth

of years and of circumstance, and put on a new one. Every act has it

consequence, and the complex interweaving of these consequences build up

what men call fate,--also we are bound as much by the consequences of

the acts of others, as by those of our own,--we are bound by the acts of

countless generations past. Every day that passes, we dislodge stones

that shall rebound, we know not where, or when, in the years to come,

stones that shall wound men and women we will never know, who will be

unconscious of our existence.

CHAPTER VII

The whole party was dull as a result of the _veglione_, following in

that the general relaxation in the surrounding atmosphere.

With the evening of _Mardi Gras_, the carnival gaiety had reached its

highest pitch, the flame had burnt itself out with the _moccoli_ and the

reaction precipitated the city from an orgy of light and colour into the

grey asceticism of fasting and prayer. Rome, for six weeks, turned her

back on the World, the Flesh and the Devil. The gay crowds who had

paraded the streets in mask and domino now flocked to the churches for

early Mass, the charming sinner sought the confessional, and if, on

Sundays, irrepressible Frivolity lifted a corner of the pall of Piety,

giving the outer world a glimpse of twinkling eyes and flashing teeth,

Monday promptly replaced the black veil. Even the sun was keeping Lent;

day after day the dawn rose on grey, sodden skies. Draggled black-robed

priests plodded unceasingly through the rain, and dripping multitudes

thronged the churches tramping the slime of the streets in over the

marble floors.

"I've had enough of this!" Astrid complained over and over again, "for

Heaven's sake let us get to some place where the sun shines!"

Estelle Hagerup had lost her enthusiasm for the Eternal City, with all

the pictures covered up in the churches, and the awful weather that kept

one from getting about there was nothing left to do, she declared. Even

listening to a sweet-voiced gentleman in striped trousers, singing

"_Lontano del mar_" is apt to pall on one, especially if the said

gentleman happens to know no other song.

To Ragna the penitential weeks were most irksome, as above all else she

wished to forget, and the very spirit of the season, imbued as it was

with introspection, examination of conscience, and the reviewing of past

days, would, in spite of her efforts, insistently present to her mental

vision that which she most desired to blot from her memory. She shunned

the churches for the very reiteration of the endless litanies seemed to

take possession of her thoughts and drive them in a vicious circle,

round and round and ever back again to the same old theme. Pagan Rome

was no better; filled as it was, with painful association it could

afford her no relief. It was with unfeigned joy then, that she greeted

Fru Bjork's decision to leave the Eternal City for Florence.

So they packed their boxes and set their faces Northward. Estelle

Hagerup had proposed a stop at Assisi and a deviation to Perugia, but

Astrid yawningly declared she had seen enough churches to last her the

rest of her life, and Ragna was too indifferent to care, so the

proposition was overruled and it was decided to take the journey direct.

They drove to the railway station through a steady downpour, the rain

dripped from the roofs, spattered up from the pavements, ran in streams

from the umbrellas of the few passers-by in the streets.

"Well," said Astrid, "if this is Sunny Italy, give me Christiania!"

They had installed themselves in an empty second-class compartment and

thought to keep it to themselves, but just as the guard was vociferating

for the third time "_Pronti!_" and "_Partenza!_" the door was flung

open and a man got in. He was of middle height, neither stout nor thin,

and might have been of any age between thirty and fifty. His dark

grizzled hair was brushed back from a high, rather prominent forehead,

and his dark grey eyes looked out with a kindly expression from behind a

gold-mounted pince-nez. He had a good nose and his mouth was firm and

well modelled, though partially hid by his short moustache and dark

beard. He bowed to the ladies and having bestowed a heavy valise in the

rack above his head, settled himself to read a newspaper which he drew

from his pocket. Ragna noticed his hands which were well-shaped and had

the suppleness and delicacy of touch belonging to medical men,

especially surgeons--also they were scrupulously well-kept.

The train moved out slowly over the Campagna, towards the hills, and

Ragna leaned out the window, taking a last look at the city where she

had left faith and innocence. As the city receded in the misty distance,

the Pagan relics disappeared; the dome of St. Peter's towered mystically

above the town, drawing the eye irresistibly, seeming to say: "All else

passes, but I the Faith of the Ages, I remain." Then a heavy curtain of

rain swept down, obscuring the view, and she sank back in her seat. The

train swerved round a curve, and with the change of direction the rain

blew in at the open window; Ragna tugged at the strap, trying to raise

it, but it resisted her efforts.

"Allow me," said a voice over her shoulder, in French; it was the man of

the newspaper. He took the strap from her hands, and with a jerk sent

the refractory pane into place.

"It is a wet day," he remarked as though he felt called upon to

apologise for the climate. "I regret that _ces dames_ should be seeing

Italy in such unfavourable circumstances."

Fru Bjork answered him. "Indeed, we cannot complain, we have had such

beautiful weather until quite recently."

"Mesdames have been long in Rome?"

"Three months."

"And you enjoyed the Carnival?"

"It was great fun!" interposed Astrid.

"Too much fun," said Estelle, lowering the guide-ook she had been

reading, and peering out over the rims of her spectacles. "You look a

perfect rag, Astrid, and Ragna too. Too much dissipation!"

"Ah!" exclaimed the gentleman, deprecatingly, glancing from one girl to

another, adjusting his pince-nez the while, "mademoiselles are tired,

then--from too much sight-seeing, perhaps?"

Ragna flushed and made no reply, but Astrid, throwing an angry glance at

Estelle, answered:

"Everyone is not as strong as a horse, and the stairs in Rome are simply

awful."

"Mademoiselle is perhaps a little anæmic?" Then as the girl looked

surprised he added, "I beg your pardon, but I am a physician and have

seen too strenuous sight-seeing have that effect on many young lady

travellers. Allow me to present myself: Dr. Ferrari, of Florence." He

bowed in the direction of Fru Bjork who responded, naming herself, and

the others of her party.

The Doctor bowed to each in turn but his eyes rested longest on

Ragna--their kindly penetration could give no offence, however, one

instinctively trusted the man. The girl puzzled him, her gravity seemed

unnatural in one so young; she seemed consciously keyed up to a certain

pitch of conduct, her smile was forced, and when the tension was relaxed

owing to her thinking herself unobserved, or to a moment of

forgetfulness, the corners of her mouth drooped and her eyes fixed their

gaze on a point in space, as though visualizing something of ineffable

sadness. In this state she would start on being spoken to and a flash,

almost of fear, would pass in her eyes.

As the day passed he studied her more and more. "She has had some

terrible experience," he said to himself, "but she is fighting it down,

and will succeed." He also observed that whatever might be haunting her

secret thoughts, it was unknown to the others of the party. He set

himself to distract her mind, to amuse her, and was rewarded by her

instant response to his efforts; she brightened perceptibly under the

influence of his respectfully friendly manner.

Fru Bjork was charmed by this acquaintance chance had thrown in their

way; never a suspicious woman, looking for good rather than evil, she

succumbed readily to her instinctive confidence in him. Before the

journey was over, she had tentatively sounded him as to his opinion on

Astrid's health, promising herself a regular consultation when a more

favourable opportunity should offer. Astrid liked him, and even Estelle

Hagerup, though in her estimation men were but poor things at best, and

only deserving of consideration in proportion to their scientific or

artistic attainments.

Fru Bjork offered the Doctor a share of the substantial luncheon

provided for the party, and he accepted, insisting on contributing as

his share in the picnic, some _fiaschetti_ of _vino_ d'Orveito. He

filled the little travelling glasses of each in turn, and handed them

about, overriding Ragna's objection that she did not care for wine,

laughingly ordering her to drink it by virtue of his professional

authority. She raised the glass to her lips, but as she tasted the wine,

the colour left her cheeks and the glass slipping from her hand was

shattered on the floor of the compartment. There was a general outcry

from all but Ferrati, who watched her with a grave, almost worried

expression.

"How clumsy I am!" said Ragna, blushing and laughing nervously. "I can't

imagine how I came to drop it!"

The Doctor carefully gathered up the pieces of glass, wrapped them in a

paper, and threw them out the window. He forebore to offer the girl

another glass of wine and she was grateful to him for his intuitive

consideration.

"The wine reminds her of something," he thought.

Estelle presently spoke of the singing lessons she expected to take in

Florence, and Astrid also said she would like to cultivate her voice.

"Does Mademoiselle Andersen also sing?" inquired Ferrati.

Ragna shook her head.

"But you would like to take up something to pass the time?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" said Ragna with evident eagerness.

"Why not try painting then, or drawing?"

"Oh, I do not think I could."

"All the more reason for learning, then--and you will at least gain the

advantage of being able to appreciate the work of our great Masters, in

a way that a person who knows nothing of painting never can."

"I should love to have drawing lessons," said Astrid, always eager for

anything new. "We used to like them at the convent, do you remember,

Ragna?"

"Yes, but they were so silly, nothing but set copies."

"I think it would be a good thing for both you girls," said Fru Bjork.

"Perhaps Dr. Ferrati may be able to recommend me a good drawing-master

for you?"

"I think I can, Madame. There is a young artist, a friend of mine, who,

owing to reverses of fortune in his family, has been thrown on his own

resources, and would be glad of the lessons. He is an excellent

draughtsman, and I am sure the young ladies would learn more with him in

a short time, than with a professor of the classic school."

"I like that idea," said Fru Bjork.

She felt that it would be good for both girls to have some interest.

Astrid's light-hearted flirtations in Rome, and Ragna's long solitary

rambles appeared almost equally reprehensible, besides, drawing was a

harmless, ladylike pursuit. She determined to push the matter and after

some further discussion it was arranged that Dr. Ferrati should bring

his artist friend to meet the ladies, the second evening after their

arrival in Florence.

Ragna listened to it all, taking no part in the conversation, assenting

listlessly to Fru Bjork's good-natured questions; her first eagerness

had passed and she had fallen again into the slough of indifference.

Ferrati had not failed to notice her too eager assent to his random

suggestion, and her subsequent apathy. "She needs some occupation," he

thought, and urged the project more than with his habitual prudence, he

would have thought advisable. "It will be an excellent thing for

Valentini, too," he said to himself; "it will give him an interest and

take him out of himself."

CHAPTER VIII

Egidio Valentini was a young man of about thirty, a Roman born, full of

the civic pride that even now stirs the bosom of those who can say:

"_Civis Romanus sum_"--flaunting the superiority conferred on her

children by the Eternal City, in the face of less fortunate mortals.

Educated by the Jesuit Fathers, spoiled by an indulgent family, he knew

no law but his own pleasure, no restraint but that imposed by policy or

incontrovertible circumstance. Endowed with a high degree of cleverness,

and with a dominant personality, he was one who would undoubtedly mould

his surroundings. Of medium stature with small hands and feet, muscular

and well proportioned, he yet lacked the careless grace characteristic

of his countrymen. His head, well set on broad shoulders had a nobility

of modelling about the forehead curiously belied by the sensual mouth

and obstinate chin. His eyes were dark and of a peculiar brilliance,

shaded by beetling black brows which almost met at the base of his well

shaped nose--slightly twisted to the right, however. This slight

crookedness of the nose gave to his face, in certain aspects, an

expression of low cunning. In spite of these defects, his appearance was

distinctly pleasing, and if, to the close observer, faults of character

corresponding to those of feature might be apparent, the blunt bonhomie

of his manner, and its too insistent sincerity conveyed to most people

the impression of sturdy honesty, while his carefully timed and placed

liberality gave him the reputation of open-handed generosity. He never

gave or lent where the transaction would not redound to his credit or

interest, but the public could not know that. He lived for the house

tops and whatever his own closet may have seen of him, there was none to

repeat.

People said of him: "His bark is worse than his bite," and showed him an

indulgence not always accorded to brusquerie.

He had come to Florence a few months previously, his family having lost

the greater part of a fortune in unsuccessful speculations. Cast on his

own resources, he turned to account the decided artistic talent he

possessed, and even in so short a time had succeeded in winning

recognition as one of the foremost rising young artists of the time.

This was not accomplished without hard work, but a love of work, and

especially of his chosen profession, with a tenacity of purpose rarely

equalled, were among Egidio's best qualities. One would have thought

that the congenial occupation and the promise of success would have

brought contentment, but Valentini never ceased to lament the change in

his fortunes and his lost inheritance, which growing daily in his

imagination soon increased from the modest competency it had been, to a

princely fortune. He never tired of repeating the story.

"My friends, it was terrible! In one day, from being a prince to become

a beggar!"

Let it be said, however, that his pride kept him from asking the

assistance of any man, and if he rose, it was by his own unaided effort.

It was this quality of independence that, as much as anything, had drawn

to him the friendship of Enrico Ferrati. They had been at school

together as boys, but for years their lives had laid apart. Ferrati, on

taking his degree, had settled in Florence, where a flourishing practice

rewarded his effort, and it was to Florence that Egidio also betook

himself, his pride rebelling against life in Rome in the changed

conditions of his fortunes. Ferrati at once seized the opportunity of

renewing the old intimacy and his sympathy and respect were as balm to

the wounds of Valentini. Ferrati, on his part, attributed to the severe

disappointment undergone, the changes he could not fail to remark in his

friend, though indeed in his company Valentini was at his best; the

devoted friendship of Ferrati called out all that was best in his

nature, and Enrico never saw the depths underlying the surface manner.

It would, perhaps, be better to say that in the company of Ferrati, the

underlying meannesses vanished; the affection Valentini had for him was

the one pure, disinterested love of his selfish nature.

Valentini heard with slight enthusiasm Ferrati's plan of a course of

drawing lessons to two young Norwegian girls.

"Carissimo," he said, "pot-hooks are not in my line." He was sitting

with Ferrati, over a glass of wine at the end of their dinner in a

modest _trattoria_.

"I think you will teach them more than pot-hooks, Egidio; one of them,

at least could be taught to see and appreciate, besides you must keep

the pot boiling, you know."

"It would be a loss of time. Why should I lose my time teaching girls

what they should have learnt at school? Let them get a governess, or a

guide-book!"

"I had thought it would interest you."

"Are they pretty, at least?"

"One is pretty, the other is something more," said Ferrati, lighting

with care a black Tuscan cigar. Valentini followed suit, and they puffed

away in silence some moments.

"One of them is more than pretty, you said?"

"Yes, she suggests possibilities, she has an interesting face. But I was

thinking of you, really, more than of the girls. It would do you the

world of good, Egidio, it would take you out of yourself. You need

humanising, disinfecting, if I may say so. How do you pass your time?

You paint all day, you eat a bad dinner, and sometimes work all evening,

or else you go to the Circolo degli Artisti and play billiards and smoke

more '_Toscani_' than is good for you--and all the time you mope. Now

these lessons will give you something else to think about, they will

bring in some money which is a consideration, and moreover, I believe

you will be doing a good action, for I think that one of these girls has

had some trouble and needs distraction quite as much as you do."

"Is that the pretty one?" asked Valentini. "I don't mind consoling

pretty girls. It is easier than teaching them to draw. They all want to

do sweet things like Raphael's cherubs, and when you won't hear of it

they sulk."

Ferrati drew out his watch.

"Well, will you take them on as pupils or will you not? I must be

getting home."

"There's no hurry, your wife's away."

"Still, I must get back, I have some work to do. Tell me, Egidio, will

you give these lessons?"

"Oh, I suppose I shall--"

"Then you will come with me to the pension to-morrow evening to be

presented to the ladies?"

Egidio yawned and stretched his arms. "How insistent you are! I'll come

and have a look at them, _e poi vedremo_! Understand, I reserve the

right to withdraw if they don't please me."

Ferrati laughed.

"You might be the Great Mogul from the way you talk instead of a

struggling painter! Your airs may impress the ladies but they don't me."

They went out into the clear, cool air, and walked up the Via Calzaioli

towards the Piazza della Signoria. The street was brilliantly lit, and

thronged by a mixed crowd of young men of the town, officers,

tradespeople, and women. It was a good-humoured crowd, out for

amusement. Groups of girls with linked arms smiled saucily at the young

men they met, meeting impudent remarks with equally impudent

retorts,--the _ciane_ of Florence have always been celebrated for their

mordant wit. Others caught up the jests and quips and bandied them

about, tossed them farther afield with additions and modifications. Now

and again a snatch of song rose and bands of young men of the _becero_

class, a soft felt hat jammed on the back of the head, thumbs in

armholes, rolled along sliding their feet and intoning a chorus, "_E se

la vuoi regirar la ruota_."

Ferrati sauntered slowly up the street, absorbed in thought; Egidio's

eyes wandered restlessly from side to side, scrutinizing the glances

turned on him, seeking to read approval of his person in the eyes of the

women, curiosity, recognition or admiration in those of the men. By the

church of Orsammichele they parted, Egidio going to his little apartment

consisting of a studio and a small bedroom, on the top floor of one of

the grim old tower-like houses of which there are many in that part of

the city. He climbed up the long stair leading to his floor and letting

himself into his rooms with a cumbrous latchkey locked the door behind

him. It was the studio he had entered, a large bare room, the ceiling

rather lower than is usual in Italian houses, being just under the roof.

The moonlight falling on a livid patch from the sky-light showed a

disordered litter of sketches and painting materials, a model's throne,

on which stood a lay figure, some ordinary wooden chairs, a table, and

near the window, an easel with a picture on it, a chair and a small

Turkish stool supporting the palette and brushes. A small doorway at the

farther side opened into the bedroom.

Valentini lit the hanging lamp and drawing the upright easel under it

settled himself to work. He was preparing the drawing of a water colour

study of costume. He worked steadily for half an hour or so, then pushed

back the easel with an expression of disgust and walked to the window,

lighting a _toscano_ as he did so. The moonlight lay clear and cold over

the city roofs, throwing the endless variety of chimney-pots into bold

relief. As he stood looking out the clocks of the city struck ten--not

in unison, each striking in turn and making the most of it. The bells of

S. Spirito across the river pealed the hour. A carriage rattled over the

stone pavements a street or two away, but just below all was dark and

silent, from the Via Calzaioli around the corner came the subdued hubbub

of the promenading crowd.

The young man closed the window and went back to his seat, passing his

hand wearily over his forehead.

"Another of those headaches, and this thing must be finished by

to-morrow noon!" he groaned, and set resolutely to work.

At the same hour, Ragna was leaning out of her window, gazing at the

silvery Arno, bordered by its golden chain of lamps and barred by its

light crowned bridges.

The pension was on the Lung Arno Acciajoli between the Ponte Vecchio,

and the St. Trinità bridge, so that to the right she saw the Carraja

bridge, and beyond that the long sweeping curve of the river towards the

Cascini, and on the other hand above the Ponte Vecchio, the cypress

crowned height of S. Miniato shadowy against the star-powdered sky.

"Here I shall find peace," she said to herself.

The dark spire of S. Spirito across the river drew her gaze, and beyond

and behind it, on Bellosguardo, a white house stood out softly in the

moonlight. The river rippled by gently, slipping past the stained walls

of the gloomy old houses opposite overhung by the mystery of their

forbidding black height, and out again into the light, reflecting the

brightness of moon and stars, in a thousand flickering wavelets; from

the _pescaja_ far below came the muffled sound of the water flowing over

the dam.

Down on the street some men were playing mandolins and guitars, and

singing in mellow passionate voices; the plaintive minor refrain of the

_stornelli_ rose in the still night, and the girl's heart ached with the

beauty of it all. Then silently, slowly, tears fell from her eyes; she

suddenly felt lonely, miserable, shut out from love, shorn of the

illusions that should be hers by right. The hated face of Mirko

interposed itself between her and the beauty of the night, and the old

shame gripped her by the throat. With a choking sob she flung the

casement to and crept into bed. From below the words of the song,

swelling in the soft spring air, floated up to her: "_Metti anche tu,

la veste bianca--_"

Ah, yes, the bride's dress of virgin white was indeed for her!

CHAPTER IX

The day had been a tiring one, for Estelle Hagerup had obliged the girls

to spend it with her, sight-seeing, and the Uffizi and Pitti galleries

stretched in endless dreary miles of painted canvas and chilly statuary

in Ragna's tired head. Dinner was over and the motley collection of old

maids, mothers with bevies of plain daughters and travelling clergymen

had settled themselves for the evening in the tawdry drawing-room. Fru

Bjork had taken out her knitting, Estelle was setting down in her diary

the doings of the day. Astrid was deep in a book, only Ragna sat idle,

her hands lightly clasped in her lap, her head resting against the back

of the chair, the eyes half closed, the lips slightly parted. Ferrati

nudged Valentini's arm as they entered the _salotto_.

"That is she, in that armchair in the corner."

"She is like a Botticelli," Valentini answered as they moved towards Fru

Bjork, who rose to greet them. She was pleased by Valentini and

delighted to see Ferrati again. Valentini drew up a chair by Ragna, on

being presented, and asked her in a brusque way, what were her

impressions of Italy. She felt slightly uneasy under the bold scrutiny

of his eyes, but the abruptness of his manner pleased her--it was a

contrast to that of Mirko! Ferrati, seeing that they both seemed

interested in each other, congratulated himself on his brilliant idea.

When the men took their departure they left the most favourable

impression with all the party, and the drawing lessons had been

definitely arranged. They took place in Egidio's study, the girls going

together, otherwise unaccompanied, as it never entered Fru Bjork's

innocent mind that a chaperone might be advisable. The lessons were

supplemented by visits to the galleries, and these visits opened a new

world to Ragna's wondering eyes. She awoke to colour and form as with

Mirko she had become aware of the life of antiquity, its fulness and

beauty. Here she learned the wonders of applied imagination, of purity

of vision and power in execution. Valentini led her especially to

appreciate the earlier artists, Ghirlandajo, Botticelli, Pollaiuolo,

Francia, Filippo and Filippino Lippi, and many were the pleasant

pilgrimages taken to the various churches and galleries to see this or

that example of the Master under study. The tentative charm of the

Primitives had pleased Ragna, but it was the pagan spirit of Botticelli

that really appealed to her, the charm of his Graces dancing their round

on the flower starred grass under over-arching boughs, the nymph-like

grace and free forward swing of the Flora, the wonderful sinuous outline

of the Venus, light as the shell on which she stands,--all of these

things, as apart from life, as truly unmoral as the flowers themselves,

soothed her with the suggestion of the futility of a conventional moral

standard. She found the angels of the Beato Angelico irritating; in

their own way they seemed as apart from morality, as flowerlike as the

nymphs, the innocence of their faces was something non-terrestrial, they

were as radiant visions seen in dreams; yes that was it, they lacked the

frank paganism, the pure humanity, that is the charm of Botticelli;

their unsullied innocence implying a corresponding ignorance of evil,

appeared to her almost an insult. How could these celestial beings,

whose faces reflect the constant vision of the Crystal Sea and the Great

White Throne, be fairly compared to poor mortals who bear the burthen

and heat of the day? They were as incorporeal as any bodiless cherubim.

Astrid did not take much interest in these artistic pilgrimages and she

soon tired of the lessons. Although unwilling to work regularly or

steadily her natural aptitude soon enabled her to make pretty little

sketches, in which the delicacy of colour and facility of treatment

atoned to some extent for the faulty drawing. Incapable of prolonged or

serious effort, she was pleased with the progress made and could see no

reason for hard work. She was capricious and flighty, and Valentini,

seeing her complete inability for application ceased to urge her,

letting her take her own easy way, since she was so evidently satisfied

with it and the results. Ragna, on the contrary, could not be satisfied

with what was merely pleasing; she was both conscientious and thorough

and consequently had less to show for her labours than her friend. Her

drawings were almost painful in the evident struggle for exactitude,

they had a grim, almost Dutch character. Her work looked "tight"--she

was one who would never attain to facility of execution. Still she

persevered and her work if not exactly pleasing, was interesting, and

showed promise of talent.

Easter had passed with the usual quaint ceremonial of the Scoppio del

Carro, and afterwards the weather grew rapidly warm--a continuous

succession of soft spring days, the crown of the year in Tuscany,

celebrated in earlier times with the _feste del Calendi maggio_. About

this time Ragna began to suffer from headaches, as well as vague

physical discomfort, and on several occasions was obliged to absent

herself from the studio.

Egidio had been observing her closely. Something that Ferrati had said

of her manner suggesting some unpleasant experience in the past, had

stuck in his mind, and as he watched her, returned to him again and

again.

That would explain the girl's fits of despondency, and her almost

feverish application to her work. The more he observed her, the greater

grew his curiosity. It must have been a love affair he decided, first

because an Italian can imagine no other cause for the inexplicable in a

woman's character, and then because she objected so unmistakably to

their conversation ever taking a sentimental turn. She was curiously

reticent too, he thought, as to her impressions of Rome, indeed it was

impossible to get her to talk at any length about Rome at all. Now,

Egidio was young and a Latin, and in spite of the self-control of which

he boasted, it was clearly impossible that he should continue to be for

so long and almost constantly in the company of a pretty girl, whose

dazzlingly white skin and golden hair were to his Italian eyes as the

fair fruit of some Garden of the Hesperides, without feeling the effects

of it. His prudence forbade him, however, to make any advances of a

compromising nature until he had assured himself of the material

advantages to be obtained. To this end he availed himself of the

opportunity offered on those occasions when Ragna was unable to come to

the studio, by leading Astrid to talk of her friend. Astrid, nothing

loath, chattered on in a light-hearted fashion, talking of their days

together at the Paris Convent, of the life in Christiania, of Ragna's

incomprehensible dislike of society in general and of men in

particular, of Fru Boyesen,--and this interested Valentini most of all.

"Madame la tante must be rich to do all that she does for her niece," he

observed.

"Oh, yes," answered Astrid carelessly. "They say she is the richest

woman in Christiania, and she has always said she will leave her fortune

to Ragna, as she has no children of her own."

Egidio flushed with pleasure, and to hide the gleam in his eyes stooped

to pick up a brush that had fallen on the floor.

"Then Mademoiselle Ragna is quite an heiress?"

"Yes, Ragna will be very well off, some day, but she is such a queer

girl,--I don't think she ever thinks of it at all."

"She is engaged to be married?"

"Oh, no!"

"Yet, she can have no lack of suitors?"

"She had half Christiania at her heels, but there,--I tell you she is

not like other girls, I doubt if she will ever marry. Ragna is queer,

sometimes you know, in Rome now,--" she stopped suddenly.

"Well, what of Rome?"

"Oh, nothing, I don't know!"

"But there must be something, since you say it in that tone of voice. I

am curious, who was there in Rome?" His eyes interrogated her stealthily

over his lowered palette.

It came to Astrid with a shock that perhaps she had not been altogether

discreet--the man's too evident curiosity put her on her guard. She

assumed an air of kittenish dignity.

"No one at all, Signor Valentini, and even if there had been, do you

think I would gossip about my friend's private affairs? I only meant

that in Rome Ragna was curious, more serious than ever perhaps, and

very absorbed in her sight-seeing."

"I suppose you accompanied her, Mademoiselle?"

"Sometimes, other times she went alone."

"Ah!" said Egidio. He saw that Astrid either could not or would not tell

him more than that, and while what might have happened to Ragna in Rome

strongly aroused his curiosity, he yet considered that part as an issue

of little relative importance; on the other hand, he had learned what it

most concerned him to know, Ragna's future prospects.

He had not seen much of Ferrati lately, as the latter had been more than

usually busy, and had had additional work at home, owing to the illness

of his two children, also he did not wish to betray his half-formed

intentions with regard to Ragna, and was afraid that his friend might

guess something. Ferrati had seen more of Ragna, however, than he had of

Egidio, as he was treating Astrid for anæmia, and from what he could see

of Ragna, but principally from what Astrid told him of her and of

Valentini he had a good idea as to what was in the air. He was more

worried than he cared to admit, feeling that he was responsible for the

situation insomuch as he had made it possible by bringing the two young

people together, and his observations of the girl had forced upon him

the recognition of other possibilities as well. He had guessed the

position in which Ragna might probably be placed, but could not

penetrate her attitude towards Valentini, and as she had not seen fit to

give him her confidence he could not presume to sound the state of her

feelings, or to extend a helping hand, much as he longed to do so. It

seemed to him that at all costs he must manage to prolong the actual

situation as long as he could, so as to allow for the development of

possibilities he suspected, for he realized that the most complicated

twists of circumstance have a way of unravelling themselves, and it was

above all things essential to gain time.

He was thankful at least, that Valentini had not come to him for advice,

which he would find it impossible to give, but recognising that the

slightest occurrence would serve as a pretext to precipitate events, and

the season being far advanced, he advised Fru Bjork to take her party to

Venice for the month of June, urging the sea-air of the Lido for Astrid.

Fru Bjork fell in at once with this suggestion, and as Dr. Ferrati's

wife and children were going to the Lido the first week in June, they

agreed to take the journey together. This involved a separation with

Fröken Hagerup who decided to remain on in Florence for a few weeks, and

then join some friends in Switzerland. They were all sorry to part with

her, as in spite of her peculiarities of dress and temperament she had

been an invaluable travelling companion, always full of resource and

enthusiasm. Fru Bjork, however, thought that Astrid's health should be

the first consideration--and after all, they would soon see Estelle

again in Christiania.

Ragna, on her part, was not sorry to leave Florence. The latter part of

the time she had been feeling not quite herself, besides the headaches,

she suffered from the most annoying spells of faintness, which she put

down to the increasing heat and to the many hours she spent in work. Fru

Bjork had suggested her consulting Dr. Ferrati, but she thought it

useless to trouble him for so small a matter, quite sure that the change

of air would be sufficient in itself. As to her feelings concerning

Valentini, she admired his talent and his unconcealed admiration of

herself was as balm to her self-respect--it reinstated her in her own

eyes. She was not in the smallest degree in love with him, nor was she

likely to be, her sentimental disillusion had been too thorough, and her

physical awakening insufficient. It was perhaps the fact that he had

never attempted to make love to her that drew her to him. His bluntness

pleased her as a contrast to Prince Mirko's polish of manner, and she

attributed to him, as a natural consequence, the virtues of constancy

and sincerity,--the reverse of the medal shown her by the Prince. She

had not thought of the possibility of his wishing to marry her, as he

had told her at the beginning of their acquaintance that his actual

position practically forbade him the thought of marriage. His presence

helped her to drown recollection and under his guidance she was rapidly

acquiring fresh interests by her increasing knowledge of the world of

art. The past at times, seemed like a bad dream, and she was already

congratulating herself on the ease with which she was leaving it behind

her. She was sorry to break off her lessons, sorry to leave her beloved

view of S. Miniato and the river, but the siren charm of Venice called

to her imagination, and it was with a comparatively light heart that she

packed her boxes.

Valentini was disagreeably surprised by Fru Bjork's plan; he had been

counting on several weeks more to conduct his siege of the girl's heart,

and this sudden departure dashed the untasted cup from his lips. In vain

he tried to make an occasion for a declaration, although he was aware

from Ragna's attitude that to force the situation in such a way would

probably mean irremediable failure. He was willing to risk all for all,

but during these last days he found no chance of speaking to her alone.

Finally he went to Ferrati and poured out his hopes and disappointment.

Ferrati listened judicially concealing his satisfaction that nothing

definite had as yet occurred, and he counselled Egidio to be patient.

"_Mio caro_," he said, "if you were to declare yourself now, you would

spoil all. The Signorina is certainly not thinking of marriage at the

present moment. Wait!"

"But if I wait," objected Egidio, "she will be gone and my chance with

her!"

"Is this girl the only fish in the sea, then, that you should be so set

on her? Let her go, Egidio! You told me only a few weeks since that you

had no thought of marrying, that women were nothing to you. Let the girl

go, she is not extraordinarily beautiful, she is not rich," (Egidio has

not mentioned Ragna's expectations) "after all is said and done she is a

stranger--believe me, it will be far better for all concerned if you put

her out of your mind."

Egidio looked at his friend suspiciously.

"If you were not already married, I should think--"

Ferrati interrupted him with a laugh.

"No, my friend, personally it is nothing to me, it is for your own sake

and for the sake of the girl herself that I ask you to give up the

idea."

"Why?"

"I don't think it would make for happiness."

"But I do, Rico. I want the girl, she appeals to me, I--I love her."

"Well, wait then, there is no reason for precipitating things."

"But she is going away, I shall lose my chance."

"She may be coming back to Florence, or you could go to Venice later on.

In any case she is not in love with you now, and a few months may

change much."

"What do you mean? Why do you talk in riddles? You know I can't run all

over the country just now, that I have those orders for the London

Society and as for her coming back here you know perfectly well that Fru

Bjork will not return to Florence, she has said so."

"The Signora has said that she will not return, but she may change her

mind, or the Signorina might come back without her--if you love me,

Egidio, do nothing now, wait awhile!

"In any case, even if she were to consent, I don't think the Signorina's

health would permit of her marrying just now--unless--" He broke off

suddenly as if afraid to say more, and rose from the café table where

they were sitting.

"Look here, Egidio, promise me that you won't force the situation now."

"_Va bene, va bene_," said Egidio, and made no effort to detain him. A

light had broken in upon his mystification at Ferrati's last speech.

"So it is that, is it?" he said to himself. "Poor old Rico, he was in

rather a tight place! Ah, well, if it is that she should prove amenable

to reason, and grateful too, and the longer one waits--yes, perhaps Rico

is right after all, about waiting. Vedremo!"

CHAPTER X

The Signora Ferrati made a pleasant travelling companion, and her two

little girls were unusually quiet and well-behaved, for Italian

children, who are generally allowed far more of their elders' society

and privileges, especially as regards eating and sitting up until late

hours, than is at all good for them.

Dr. Ferrati was unable to accompany his family, but had promised to come

to Venice in a fortnight's time. The journey up was uneventful, and the

two parties separated at the railway station, the Signora taking a

_vaporetto_ directly to the Lido, while Fru Bjork and the girls, went to

a small, but comfortable, hotel on the Grand Canal.

That evening Astrid and Ragna hung over the balcony of the latter's

room, gazing in ecstasy at the fairyland spread before their eyes.

Nearly opposite, rose the white dome of S. Maria della Salute, gleaming

shadowy pale against a star-powdered sky; the dark water below, fretted

with silver ripples, flowed silently by, and over its surface sped the

slim dark shapes of gondolas, the gondolier swaying to the rhythm of his

oar, each gondola bearing its little lamp behind the tall steel prow.

Down the canal, from the Rialto, came the _barche_ full of musicians,

gay with Japanese lanterns, and the high transparent emblem "S. Mareo"

or the "Sirena," and surrounded by a growing flotilla of gondolas. The

still air throbbed with the haunting strains of voices, mandolins and

guitars. A strong, clear tenor voice, rose above the others, the notes

vibrating with passion, as they rose and fell.

Astrid squeezed Ragna's hand.

"Oh, isn't it just too heavenly for words!" she murmured.

The charm of it all, in its setting of soft, luminous Italian night,

penetrated both the girls, but in different ways. To Astrid, it was a

delightfully romantic impression, to be recalled with pleasure; to

Ragna, the poignancy of the beauty was tinged with bitterness, and the

very loveliness of it was as a two-edged sword, recalling other Italian

nights and their associations. Try as she would, she could not banish

the past, nor had custom yet made her callous to the memory of what had

happened.

The girls stood on the balcony, until the music stopped, and the boats

drifted away, then they kissed one another good-night, and Astrid went

to her own room.

Ragna, although tired out by the long day's journey, could not sleep;

instead, she lay watching through her mosquito netting the white patch

of light on the floor, and the shadow of the balcony balustrade with its

fretted pattern. She was thinking of Valentini. He had been at the

station that morning to see her off, and his farewell had been so

loverlike as to bring a look of surprised inquiry to Fru Bjork's face.

The flowers he had given her were in a vase on the balcony, as their

strong perfume made it impossible to keep them in the room. She turned

uneasily as she thought of his pressure of her hand, of the intensity of

his dark burning eyes on hers, of the words he had said to her when, for

an instant, he had managed to draw her aside from the others of the

party.

"Signorina, this is not good-bye, but au revoir. You will come back, I

know it, I feel it, and when you come back, it will be to _me_.

Remember," he added with solemnity, "if ever you are in trouble, if ever

you need a friend, I am here!"

At the time, his manner had struck her as curious, and even more so now,

as she thought it over.

"If ever I should be in trouble--" she murmured, "but, why should he

think of my being in trouble? Surely, my trouble is over and done with!

Can he know, can he suspect?--But no, that is quite impossible. I wonder

what he supposes and what he means? Go back to Florence to him? No, I am

not going back."

She wondered if his words might have the virtue of a prophecy, then

laughed at herself. Presently, she turned her hot pillow and threw back

the sheet, for the night was close.

The change of air gave fresh energy to the whole party except Ragna, who

continued pale and languid. Fru Bjork worried over it, and longed for

the coming of Dr. Ferrati whose advice she intended to ask, whether

Ragna wished it or no. As the Doctor had recommended sea-bathing for

Astrid, the three ladies made daily trips to the Lido, and the girls

thoroughly enjoyed their dips in the warm Adriatic. Ragna had always

been a strong swimmer, but here, to her surprise, found that she tired

almost at once, but set it down to the heat. After the long delicious

bath was over the girls wrapped themselves in bath-robes, and lay on the

sands to bake, their heads shielded from the sun by broad-brimmed straw

hats. The strong soft heat and the salt air made them sleepy, the sands

seemed to vibrate in the sunshine, a delightful weariness weighted their

limbs, a drowsy consciousness of complete physical well-being filled

them. It was to Ragna the happiest moment of the day.

The atmosphere alone of Venice gave her a feeling of rest and peace; the

silent gliding of gondolas through the canals, the long drawn-out

sonorous cries of the gondoliers, the soft wash of the water against the

richly tinted walls, all lulled her senses. She realized that afternoon

is the time to see Venice, the strong light of morning throws into

intolerable relief the decay of the city; the St. Martin's Summer of the

glorious Republic requires the mellow haze of the hours before sunset,

as a fading beauty is best seen by candle light, and often in the

afternoon, she would slip away to some old church, and in solitary

musing to steep herself in the wonderful atmosphere of golden autumn.

Most often of all, she went to S. Maria Formosa, and would sit for hours

in contemplation of Palma Vecchio's Santa Barbara. She loved the strong,

voluptuous, calm woman, beautiful with the beauty of the corn-harvest,

standing clear-eyed and self-possessed in her rich russet draperies. All

the richness and fulness of the earth seemed symbolized in this glorious

creature, this Woman of women. "Ceres," the girl called her, for in her

appearance, there is nothing of the saintly, nothing of the ascetic,

rather the promise of abundant voluptuous joy--not pleasure, but

something deeper, graver, more fundamental, the earnest of a bounteous

harvest of life.

She sought the mellow golden glow of S. Mereo, at that hour, when the

level rays of the declining sun fill the air with a mystic radiance,

seemingly the golden impalpable dust of centuries of prayer. The

softened splendour filled her soul, and warmed it, as generous wine

warms the veins, and the heavy odour of the incense drugged her

restless memory to temporary oblivion. She followed from afar, the

offices, and once was tempted to make the sacred sign with the holy

water at the door, as she left. She dipped her fingers in the stoup,

then smiled and wiped them on her handkerchief, ashamed of the impulse;

did not her reason tell her that all these observances were mere

foolishness? Still she could not deny the craving of her heart for some

sort of mystic communion with the souls of the simple worshippers about

her. She loved to watch the rays mount until they touched, with a

fleeting radiance, the gold mosaics of the domes, then disappeared,

carrying the glory with them. But afterwards, in the sudden darkness,

the star-like tapers about the high altar gained a mystic significance,

and the little floating lights in glasses, like glow-worms in the dusk,

before the smaller shrines, seemed tiny beacons set for the wandering

soul, or were they merely will-o'-the-wisps, luring one to a sense of

false security? The spirit of it all breathed consolation and peace, but

she saw it as through a glass; she longed to enter the sanctuary, but

felt herself barred out by impalpable barriers. The haven seemed to lie

before her eyes, but the path was hidden. "There was the door to which I

found no key," she quoted to herself.

One afternoon, as she sat there in a side chapel, a girl entered, and

disregarding the kneeling benches, threw herself against the altar

itself, clutching the edge of the Sacred Table with straining clasped

hands, her head bowed between her arms, her long, dark shawl dragging

down the steps behind her, like a black trail of despair. The faint

light from the tapers shone on the girl's auburn hair, following the

burnished waves and tendrils. Her slender shoulders were heaving with

sobs.

Ragna watched her awhile, then rose from her chair and put her hand

softly on the girl's shoulder.

"What is it?" she asked. "Let me help you. Tell me what your trouble

is."

The girl raised her head, and her streaming dark eyes met Ragna's.

Seeing the sympathy in the fair face bent over her, she rose and let

herself be led away to a corner near the entrance where there were some

chairs.

"What is the matter?" asked Ragna.

"Oh, Signorina, it is very great," sobbed the girl, "but it is nothing a

young lady like you could understand."

"What is it? Tell me," said Ragna gently.

"Oh, Signorina, I can't! I should be ashamed, you would despise me. What

can a young lady like you know of--"

"Come, tell me, I shall not despise you," said Ragna; she was conscious

already of an odd sense of fellowship. The girl raised her head, and

looked at her steadily, as though testing the sincerity of the words.

"Signorina, my lover, Zuan, he is--he is going away, to America--he no

longer wishes to marry me, and--" she drew aside the shawl, showing the

altered lines of her figure.

"Oh!" said Ragna pitifully.

"And Signorina, my father turns me out of his house, he says I have

brought disgrace on him, that no one will marry me now. I have nowhere

to go. But that is nothing. I can work. It is Zuan--he doesn't love me

any more, he is tired of me--" her voice trailed off into a wail. Ragna

stroked her hand.

"Signorina, why should he cease to love me when I love him as much as

ever? It must be another woman who has taken him from me! If I find her,

I will kill her, I swear it! I will kill him too, and then I will kill

myself!"

"But your child?" said Ragna, "have you thought of it?"

"The _creatura_? Poor little lamb to be wronged by its father before it

is born! See you, Signorina," she turned defiantly, "it is his child,

and he shall recognize it or die! No other woman shall have him!" Her

eyes flashed.

Ragna tried another tack.

"If you are patient, and wait, he may come back to you; what would you

gain by killing him? They will send you to prison, and your child will

be born in disgrace."

"Perhaps you are right, Signorina," returned the girl doubtfully. "But

how can I wait? Where can I go? My father has turned me out of his

house, and no one will give me work now. No, it is better that I make an

end of it."

She rose, but Ragna caught her hand, and pulled her down.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Carolina, Signorina, Carolina Manin di Guiseppe."

"Listen to me, Carolina, I will do something for you, I will see that

you get work, but you must promise me to do nothing foolish. I can help

you as long as you are only unfortunate, but I can't help a murderess."

"A murderess, Signorina?" The girl's eyes dilated.

"A murderess, yes, that is what you would be if you killed your lover.

Would you like people to say that your child's mother was a murderess?"

"Madonna santissima, no!"

"Well, then, you will promise me?"

"I will swear it by the Madonna, Signorina."

"Take this money then," she emptied the contents of her purse into the

girl's hand, "it will keep you for some days, until I can find something

for you to do." She scribbled her name and address on a leaf torn from

her note book. "Here, this is my address--you can come to see me--let me

see, this is Monday--come to see me Sunday. You know how to find the

Hotel Roma?"

"Oh, Signorina, you are an Angel of God, whom the blessed Madonna has

sent me in my need!" She seized Ragna's hands, and covered them with

kisses. "God will reward you, Signorina!"

"No, I am not an angel, Carolina, indeed I am very far from being

one,"--she smiled sadly. "Come to see me next Sunday then, and we will

see what can be done."

Interrupting the girl's protestations of gratitude and devotion, she

freed herself, and walked quickly away, wondering what she should do to

carry out her impulsive promise.

"I suppose I am a foolish idiot," she said to herself, "but I simply

could not help it. Poor thing--I wonder what I can do for her?"

Instinctively, her thoughts turned to Dr. Ferrati, he would be sure to

find some way of arranging the matter. She said nothing to Fru Bjork or

Astrid, they would only be shocked, and blame her for her impulsiveness.

Fru Bjork was kind-hearted, but narrow-minded, and in common with many

"good" women, would have shunned Carolina and her like, as she would the

plague.

Dr. Ferrati arrived a week later than the day he had set. He had

travelled by a night train, and chance had it, that he took the same

_vaporette_ that carried Fru Bjork and the girls to the Lido. When they

got on at the Piazzetta, they hailed him with joy, and bade him bring

his campstool to the bow, where they usually sat. When they were all

comfortably settled, he put on his pince-nez, and looked at the girls in

turn, noting with satisfaction Astrid's delicate bronze colour, so

becoming to her fair curls and greenish eyes, but he started at Ragna's

pallor, and drawn features. They were speaking of the Lido, and Ragna

said:

"The bathing is delightful, especially when there is a little surf, I

love to swim through it, to feel the waves buffet me about. But I get

tired so soon now."

"But surely, Signorina, you are not bathing?"

"Why not?" asked Ragna, astonished, and the others echoed her.

"It is most unwise for you just now," said Ferrati, adjusting his

pince-nez to hide his dismay and embarrassment. "You are anæmic, you are

not strong enough--it is most unwise."

"Yes," agreed Fru Bjork, "I have told her so, but she won't listen to

me. She really is not at all well. I wish you would advise her, Doctor,

indeed I do. The child worries me, what with her pale looks, and no

appetite, and headaches and fainting fits."

Ragna anxiously met the Doctor's scrutinizing gaze.

"I wish you would prescribe for me; Fru Bjork is right. I am really not

myself," she said simply.

Ferrati skilfully changed the subject and they chatted on gaily enough,

until the Lido was reached. The little tram took them across the island,

and while the others went to the dressing-rooms to change for the bath,

the Doctor and Ragna walked out on to the terrace fronting the sea. They

found two chairs, a little apart from the groups of smiling, chattering

people, and when they had seated themselves, Ragna opened the

conversation.

"Tell me the truth, Doctor, why should I not bathe?"

Ferrati met her question with a searching glance; was she in good faith,

or feigning?

"Do you not know, then, Signorina, what is the matter with you?"

"You say I am anæmic, I have headaches, and dizzy spells--" a horrible

doubt suddenly thrust itself upwards in her mind. "For God's sake,

Doctor, tell me what it is?"

"Surely you must have an idea--" He hesitated, then in answer to the

appeal for frankness in her eyes, he continued in a lower tone.

"Signorina, you are _enceinte_. Is it possible that you have not guessed

it?"

Ragna paled, and her head fell back against the wooden support of the

awning. Ferrati hastily summoned a waiter, and bade him bring a glass of

cognac, which he made the girl take. The colour slowly crept back to her

lips and cheeks; she made one or two efforts to speak, but was only able

to swallow convulsively; finally in a husky voice she asked:

"How long have you known, suspected--this?"

"For about two months now--suspected, I say--but when I saw you on the

boat, I was sure. Of course I may be mistaken, an examination would be

necessary to be quite certain--there are tumours--"

"Will you examine me then--to-day? I must know, I must be sure--Oh, my

God, I never thought of this!"

He gazed at her curiously, half cynically, yet impressed by her

sincerity of manner.

"But surely, you must have known? You are young, Signorina, but you are

not a child."

Her eyes fell before his.

"I did not know--I never thought of this!" she repeated dully.

His doubting expression faded before the despairing misery of her pale

face.

"No," he thought, "she did not know or she could not look like this."

The girl's attitude was not one of discovered shame, but that of a

person felled by a sudden blow. She looked dazed, stricken. People in

bright summer dress were laughing, and joking all about; some were

drinking Vermouth. From the sands below came the voices of happy

children, and bathers in gay costumes made merry in the sparkling blue

water.

"You are sure, quite sure?" Ragna asked suddenly, in a low, terrible

voice.

"I told you that there can be no absolute certainty without an

examination. Do not distress yourself so, my child," he added, touched

to the heart by her misery, "after all, it may be a false alarm!"

The words seemed to give Ragna strength; though still deadly pale, she

rose from her chair, saying:

"Come with me now, then; let us have it over at once. Come!"

"But, Signorina," he remonstrated, "your people, what will they think?"

"I can leave a message for Fru Bjork; I shall say I felt ill, and that

you took me home. See! there comes your wife--tell her and she will see

the others!"

She was already moving towards the Signora, who was crossing the terrace

with her little girls, all three greeting Ferrati with smiles of

welcome. The children ran to him, and throwing their arms about him,

shrieked with joy.

"Babbo has come! Babbo has come!"

Ferrati embraced them, and put them down; he kissed his wife who was

holding Ragna's hand, and said to her,

"Virginia cara, the Signorina has a bad headache, and feels faint, so I

am taking her home. Tell the others not to be alarmed; it is only that I

think the glare here is too much for her, and she ought not to go all

the way home alone."

"You are pale, dear," said the Signora to Ragna. "Will you not come to

my room, and lie down? You will be quite cool and quiet there."

"Thank you," said Ragna, "you are very kind, but I think I will go

home--I should like to go quite to bed."

"Yes," said Ferrati, "I think you had better go home."

"Enrico is right," said the Signora, "go, cara, I will explain to the

others when they come."

Ragna kissed the Signora, and moved off; the bright light dazzled her,

she stumbled once or twice, and would have fallen, had not the Doctor

been at her elbow. He steered her to the little tram, and at the landing

found her a shady place on the vaporetto. Thinking she would be more

comfortable by herself, he moved a little distance away, and lit a

cigar, being careful, however, to remain within call.

To the end of her life, Ragna never forgot that trip. The little

steamer rushed along through the greenish-yellow water, following an

endless winding channel marked by groups of piles. The very swish of the

bows through the water, seemed carrying her inexorably onward to some

untoward fate. She shrank from the imminent certainty, yet longed to

know, to be sure. Nothing she thought, could be worse than this horrible

state of semi-suspense. A fictitious suspense it was though, for her

inner consciousness was aware that Dr. Ferrati had seen the truth; still

as long as there was a possibility of doubt, she felt that she must

cling to it. Other boats passed, gay with people in summer dress, there

were _barche_ too, and gondolas with their bright summer awnings. She

saw them apathetically, but between them and her, there rose distinct in

her mental vision, the slender black-draped figure of Carolina, thrown

in despair against the little side-altar. How she had pitied that

girl--and now, here she was in like case! A bitter smile wreathed her

lips.

"And I thought to forget, to put it out of my life!" she murmured.

The boat was a "diretto" and took them to the Piazzetta without

intermediate stops, and there the Doctor put Ragna into a gondola for

the remaining distance. The vibrating noonday heat beat down on her

through the inadequate awning, she lay back dazed, but half conscious,

until the hotel was reached. At last they were in the girl's cool,

shaded room; the Doctor made his examination, and withdrew to the

balcony, while Ragna dressed herself again; as soon as she was ready,

she called him, and turning, he found her standing in the middle of the

room.

"Well?" she asked.

"I am sorry, Signorina, but there is no possible doubt."

She sat down heavily; against her inner knowledge, she had been hoping

against hope. The red and yellow striped awning over the balcony cast a

bright glow on the floor, through the parted Venetian blinds; a bowl of

late roses stood on the table, filling the air with their musky perfume,

and the heavy droning of flies against the ceiling emphasized the noon

silence. The girl sat like a graven image, staring straight before her

with terrible dry eyes, her nerveless hands hung by her side.

Ferrati drew up a chair, and took one of the limp hands in his own.

"Will you not tell me all about it, my child? Remember a doctor is a

sort of lay confessor. Perhaps I can help you?"

Thus had she offered to help the unfortunate girl in S. Mario! She

laughed mirthlessly.

"I said that myself to a girl a few days ago, she is coming to-morrow

for me to help her--the blind leading the blind!"

Her hardness alarmed the Doctor. "I must break this," he thought. "I

must make her cry."

But she had no intention of crying; in a hard, even voice she told him

the tale of Prince Mirko, and the fateful drive over the Campagna, and

when she had finished, relapsed into silence.

"Poor little girl!" he said, stroking her hand. "Poor little girl!"

She looked at him wonderingly.

"Then you do not despise me?" she asked.

"God forbid! I have seen too much of the world and of men. And if you

have been foolish, if you have done wrong--which you have not, in my

eyes--you are paying for it heavily enough, God knows!"

"I should feel better about it, if I had really loved him--I thought I

did, but I know now that I did not--"

"Many women do not love their husbands, the fathers of their children,

and it is not counted sinful," he said, smiling.

"Yes, but marriage is different--If I had loved him I should not feel so

humiliated.--I was foolish and weak, I let myself go--And now--"

"And now, my dear, you pay the penalty. It is weakness, not vice, that

expiates, in this world," said Ferrati grimly. "Yes, you expiate, there

is no obviating that. But there is no necessity for bearing more than is

unavoidable--we must consider what is to be done. The past is the past,

there is no helping that, we must think of the present. Can you go home

to your people?"

"Home? Oh, never!" cried Ragna, hiding her face in her hands. "They

would turn me out!"

"I thought as much--the usual charity of a virtuous family. Full of

self-righteousness--sends missionaries to the heathen and its own flesh

and blood to perdition," he added under his breath.

"Well then, home being out of the question, we must think of something

else.--Leave it to me my child. I will think it over; you shall not

worry, leave it all to me. I shall not fail you."

His honest, steadfast eyes met hers, and she felt in some degree

reassured and comforted.

"You are good!" she cried.

He patted her shoulder. "Go to bed now, and keep up the pretence of the

headache." (Indeed, it was no pretence by this time.) "I will come to

see you again later in the day, and we will talk it all over quietly. In

the meantime you must rest." He took from his pocket a little bottle of

pellets and gave her one--"Take this at once, it will make you sleep,

and when I come back you will be rested and clear in your mind, so that

we can discuss your future plans. I shall leave orders that you are not

to be disturbed. Remember, above all, that you have nothing to fear, I,

at least, shall stand by you, and see you through--you shall see that

everything can be arranged."

She made no answer, so he passed his hand lightly over her bowed head,

and left the room.

Ragna laid the pellet on the table, and sat on stupidly in her chair,

her head supported by her hands. She felt blank and stunned; gradually,

out of her blind chaos of misery rose terrible and concrete this thing

that was upon her; it obsessed her half-paralysed brain with a sense of

inevitable, unreasonable doom. She wondered dully why she had not

thought of this contingency, and yet the possibility of it had never

entered her mind. To bear a child of _his_, and in this way! She

shivered with horror. And the shame, the disgrace of it! For this could

not be hidden, this could not be passed over and buried in oblivion--the

coming of the child would blazen her dishonour to the eyes of all men.

Oh why could she not die? Surely things had been bad enough as they were

before, but this--this was unendurable. The water sparkled there

invitingly, beneath the balcony--a plunge and it would soon be over. Why

should she live, why bear this shame, while _he_ went scot free? What

was there to compel her to tread this Via Crucis, when the way of escape

lay open? The water called her; with a feverish hunted look in her eyes

she staggered to the balcony, drew the awning aside. The door behind her

opened silently, a strong hand grasped her shoulder.

"Doctor!" she gasped.

"Signorina," asked Ferrati sternly, "what were you about to do?

Something warned me to come back, and thank Heaven I have been in time!

You were about to throw yourself into the Canal, were you not?"

He forced her into a chair, and stood towering accusingly over her. She

met his gaze with defiant despair.

"Yes, I was. What right have you to stop me?"

"I have the right to prevent you from adding crime to weakness. Yes,

crime," he added, seeing her wince.

"Understand me, had it been a question of yourself only, I should not

say this--you see my morality is not of the conventional pattern--but

you have not only yourself to think of, there is the child--your child.

If by your past weakness, wittingly or unwittingly, you have incurred

this responsibility, you cannot repudiate it, you must bear the

consequences, you cannot brush them aside. You think that this, the

physical part, and the disgrace implied were a price that you could

avoid paying by forfeiting your life, but you cannot forfeit for

another. You are no longer alone, you have another life to consider,

that of an innocent and helpless child who did not ask to be born--"

"But surely, Doctor," she interrupted, "I have a right to decide whether

I shall bear this child or not; I have a right to choose death for it

and me, rather than the stigma of shame!"

"My dear child, I do not consider that there is any shame. The shame

would die in repudiating a fundamental law of nature, of sacrificing two

lives to the fetish of conventional morality. What are the conventions,

that you should immolate yourself and your child to them? Your duty is

this: to bring your child into the world strong and healthy, and you owe

it to him to make his life as happy as shall lie in your power--beyond

that, nothing can rightly be required of you, and you can do no less.

You are no longer merely a girl, a woman, you are a mother!"

Ragna lifted her head; Ferrati's words opened new vistas to her

wondering gaze.

"A mother!" she echoed.

"Yes, a mother, and your first duty is to be true to your child--all the

rest comes after." His voice softened as he read the response to his

call in the girl's face. "You will be brave, you must be brave, for the

little one's sake. You see that now, do you not?"

"Yes, I understand that now--it was all so sudden, and so dreadful, it

took me unawares. But I see that you are right, I will be brave now, I

promise it."

Ferrati had touched the right chord, the chord of self-sacrifice, the

battle was won, and he knew it; never again would Ragna attempt

self-destruction, come what might.

"And now you will rest as I told you, until this afternoon?"

She signified "yes" with her head. Ferrati brought a glass of water from

the toilet table, and she took the little pellet. Then he rang for the

chambermaid, and when she had come, said to her:

"Help the Signorina into bed, she has a bad headache, and must rest. I

have given her some sleeping medicine, and I leave it to you to see that

she is not disturbed. You can tell the Signorina that I am coming back

later, and will speak to her then."

So he left the room a second time, his heart full of pity for the

wretched girl, the more so, as he had found her so readily responsive to

his appeal to duty.

"Poor child!" he repeated. "Poor, poor child!"

He returned to the Lido and lunched with his wife, but was silent and

preoccupied. The Signora, accustomed to these moods of her husband's,

when his patients caused him anxiety, forbore to question him. When he

had finished eating, he lit his _toscano_, and walked up and down the

long terrace of the hotel, his brows knit, his hands joined behind his

back; finally he rejoined his wife in her room, whither she had retired

for the siesta. She raised her head from the pillow, as he entered, and

put down the novel she had been reading.

"_Ebbene, Rico?_" she asked.

"Virginia mia, I am worried about a patient of mine, a girl who is in

great trouble--and I don't know what to do to help her!"

"Ragna Andersen?" she asked quietly.

"How did you guess?"

"My dear man, you are so hopelessly transparent! Besides, I am not

blind--a look at her face this morning would have been enough for

anybody."

"The fact is, Virginia, I don't know what to do about it."

"Can't she go home?"

"She says her people would turn her out, if they knew."

"Poor girl! No, I suppose she must manage to keep them in the dark

somehow. Did she tell you how it happened?"

"She told me in confidence, but one thing I can assure you of,

Virginia, she has been most outrageously treated, and taken advantage

of--her very goodness and innocence have betrayed her."

Virginia waved this aside. "After all, what does that matter? The fact

remains that she is in a hole and must be got out of it. What had you

thought of doing for her, Rico?"

"I wanted to ask your advice--a woman knows so much more in a case like

this."

What he wished to do was to enlist his wife's sympathy and interest; he

knew how invaluable, and how necessary her help would be, for without

her adherence, there really was not much he could do.

"Won't you tell me, Virginia, what you think should be done?"

Virginia sat up, dropping her feet down over the edge of the bed; chin

in hands, elbows on knees, she reflected, her tumbled dark hair falling

over her pretty ivory tinted shoulders, from which the chemise had

slipped.

"The first thing, of course, is for her to leave her party before they

find out, and how it is that they have suspected nothing, is beyond my

comprehension! She must leave them at once.--Fru Bjork is kind, but on

her daughter's account, she would throw Ragna off with no compunctions

whatever--It's lucky that that old maid they had with them in Florence

isn't here--she would have seen it all long ago. I'll tell you what,

Rico, Ragna can say she is coming back to Florence with me, and when we

go back next week--I always liked the girl and I will do that much

anyhow, for her--tell her she can use my name in any way she likes, and

she can count on me to help her out. In Florence, she can have it all

over quietly and go home afterwards."

"I thought you would help her, Virginia, and she will appreciate it, I

know. If you could have seen her utter misery!"

"Would you like me to go to her? I will if it would do any good."

Ferrati raised his wife's face to his, and kissed her.

"Yes, she would appreciate that--to-morrow, you shall go." He paused a

moment. "I am thinking how to manage about Fru Bjork, how to get the

girl away from her, without her suspecting--"

"Ah, well, you and she must work that out together. Necessity sharpens

the wits, and Ragna ought to be able to find a way--I don't think that

should prove very difficult."

"I must be getting back to her now. I promised her I would come soon."

"Tell her I will come to-morrow, or she can come to me, and we will

arrange it all. Tell her to keep her courage up, and that we will see

her through!" Virginia called after him, as he left the room, and he

answered her with a smile and a wave of the hand.

In the hotel lobby he met Fru Bjork, anxious inquiry written large upon

her face.

"Now, Doctor, what is the matter with Ragna? I am really most anxious

about the child."

"My dear Signora," he said, "there is nothing to be alarmed about; I

find her very much run down--there may be something more, but until I am

certain I prefer not to say anything. All that she needs for the present

is complete rest and quiet. I shall go up now and see if her headache is

any better, and afterwards I would like to talk over with you the course

of treatment I wish to propose for her general health."

"I will go up with you," said Fru Bjork, gathering her skirts about her.

The Doctor raised a deprecating hand.

"Afterwards, my dear lady, afterwards. With her head as bad as it was

this morning, she ought not to see more than one person at a time."

"Just as you say, Doctor--and I hope you will find the poor child more

comfortable. I can't tell you Doctor, how glad I am that you are here to

look after her--I have worried over her so, I love her as though she

were my own child, and that's a fact. Go up to her then, and I'll wait

for you here." She sank on to a wicker settee, fanning herself with an

awkward jerky movement.

Ferrati went to Ragna's room, and listened an instant at the door; there

was no sound within--He tapped gently and entered in obedience to a

languid "Come in!"

Ragna lay on the bed, staring towards the window. She was very pale, her

eyes had dark circles and her features looked pinched and worn--In a

toneless voice she asked the Doctor to be seated, and he drew a chair

beside the bed. He felt her pulse, which was regular, but weak, and

glanced anxiously at the sharpened delicacy of her face.

"How do you feel by now?"

"Oh, very tired," she answered wearily, "and rather stunned. My head

seems too weak to think--and I must think," she added desperately,

passing a hand over her forehead.

"I told you not to worry, that I would do the thinking for you," he

reminded her. "Now is it essential that your friends should not

guess--or could you take Fru Bjork into your confidence? Would she not

help you?" He thought of the motherly anxiety the good woman had just

displayed, and wondered if Virginia had not been wrong.

"Fru Bjork!" exclaimed Ragna, shuddering. "Oh, no! I would rather die

than tell Fru Bjork! She is a good woman, she would not understand--she

would despise me! Oh, not Fru Bjork!"

"Then if it won't do to tell her, you must find a way to leave her

without her suspecting. You cannot remain with her much longer--not a

day longer than can be helped."

"But how shall I manage it?"

"We will think of some way, and as for the rest, you must come back to

Florence, and I will see you through with this. My wife says that you

may tell your friends you are going to stop with her--she is very sorry

for you, and will do all she can to help you."

"Then you told her--she knows?"

"She had guessed already, but you need not worry, she is quite safe--and

my child, you must have some woman friend to help you now. Virginia will

do all she can."

"The Signora is very good--but oh, I shall feel ashamed to see her

again--now!"

"You need not, I assure you, she understands, and is full of sympathy."

Ragna smiled faintly--it was good to hear that, after all, she would not

be friendless.

"Do you know when Fru Bjork intends to return to Christiania?"

"She will be going soon now--she has always said she would go home in

July, and we are at the end of June."

Ferrati pursed up his lips.

"June--next Wednesday is the first of July--if she keeps to her plan we

may win through--but if she postpones her departure--In any case, I

shall tell her that your health will not permit of your taking a long

journey now. I shall tell her that I am afraid of a growth of some kind,

a tumour, and that I wish to keep you under my observation until I can

be sure. She has confidence in me, and if she can be persuaded to leave

you in my care--"

"But she will never leave me like that. She is very fond of me, and

nothing would induce her to leave me alone and ill in a strange

country."

"We must think of a way to get her to do it, something may turn up--and

in any case, if the worst comes to the worst, you can quarrel with her

on some pretext or other, and leave her."

"Oh, I should hate to do that, she has been so good to me!"

"My dear child, we can't afford to consider your likes and dislikes in

the matter, since you feel that you can't confide in her, you must take

whatever means offers of leaving her before she finds out. However,

there is no reason to precipitate matters, we can wait a few days, in

case of something happening. In the meantime, you must be very careful

not to arouse her suspicions in any way,--this migraine will tide you

over two or three days anyway. We must arrange for you to travel back to

Florence with my wife and me, next week; I shall take rooms for you near

our apartment, for you can't stop on in a pension now,--and you must

have a woman to do the work and look after you."

As an inspiration the thought of Carolina flashed through Ragna's mind.

"Doctor," she said, "there is that girl I promised to help, she is

coming here to see me to-morrow,--she might do for a servant for me--at

any rate, I should have no need to feel ashamed before her, she knows

what it is to be unhappy, and it would be a way of redeeming my

promise."

"You might do worse--we can certainly consider the question. Send the

girl to me, I will speak to her, and make some inquiries about her. If

she proves to be a suitable person, we can take her back to Florence

with us."

"How kind you are to me, dear Dr. Ferrati! I don't know what I should do

without you, nor how I shall ever thank you!"

"I wish there was more I could do, my poor child! If you want to please

me, be brave and gather up all your strength. We all have our hard times

to live through, and we must do it as best we can. You are very young,

remember, and life lies before you,--you will have many bright and happy

days yet--"

Ragna smiled bitterly, and made no answer.

"I think you had better stop in bed, and I shall come again to-morrow. I

will tell Fru Bjork that you are not to talk or be disturbed." He took

her hand and stroked it gently. "Don't worry and reproach yourself, my

child; regretting the past will undo none of the mischief, one must go

forward and face the future. Looking backward never does any good; if

all the strength wasted in repentance and vain regrets were turned into

a wholesome resolve to make the future better than the past! Ah, my

dear, the Church has much to be responsible for, in fostering

introspection and useless repentance as virtues! Virtues indeed! they

sap the strength and muddle the brain, and make one weak and mawkish!

Face the future, and make the best of it, that is the true morality!"

He smiled whimsically down at the girl. "See how my tongue runs away

with me, when I mount one of my hobbies! We shall have long discussions

in future, you and I,--and I think you will find that life is not such a

bad affair after all!"

He left Ragna much benefited by his cheery optimism, and kindly manner.

"At least I have one real friend," she thought, and then her mind turned

to Angelescu. He had meant well by her, he had tried to help her,--would

he, if he could have foreseen all? His earnest face with the serious

steadfast eyes rose before her mental vision, and she knew that nothing

would have made any difference to him. The impulse seized her to write

to him, to recall him--but no, that was impossible, she had refused his

offer twice, and so decisively that reconsideration was impossible, even

if present circumstances had not precluded such a thought. No, as she

had made her bed, so must she lie in it. She fell into a state of

self-pity, in which she saw herself the victim of adverse circumstance,

about to be crushed by the juggernaut-car of fatality, broken and cast

out! The flagrant injustice that she alone should suffer the penalty,

while Mirko went scot free, seared her soul, but it caused her,

nevertheless, a sort of pride. Her sufferings made him appear but a poor

creature in his careless detachment from moral responsibility, and in

the abstract, the idea of shouldering the whole of the burthen alone,

gave her an odd sense of exhilaration. She said defiantly to herself:

"God has denied me the common joys of women. He has chosen me to wreak

His vengeance upon; my lover has forsaken me, and mocked me, what

matter? I will take up the load he has shirked. I will rise above the

condemnation of society. I will prove myself mistress of my fate."

With this, calm came upon her, and she fell asleep.

Fortune favoured Ragna, or at least had for her that ambiguous smile,

which for the time being, promises a smoothing of the way, but which,

retrospectively, seems but an ironic mask. "Here is the way open before

you," says Fate; but the path leads but to the deeper intricacies of the

labyrinth, from which we would fain escape.

Fru Bjork received a telegram, announcing the illness of Astrid's

fiancé, and requesting their instant return.

Ragna was still in bed with a low fever, brought on by the shock and

subsequent extreme nervous tension, resulting from her terrible

discovery. Fru Bjork, poor woman, was in a quandary; she felt that she

must take Astrid back to Christiania, while Dr. Ferrati positively

forbade Ragna's undertaking the journey in her weak state of health, and

gave his opinion, moreover, that several weeks must elapse before she

might contemplate it. The good lady worried, and lost sleep at night,

her fat rosy cheeks drooped in anxious curves, and her cap sat

perpetually awry on her grey hair. She vacillated hopelessly, without

arriving at any decision,--should she and Astrid stop on with Ragna, or

should she bundle Ragna off with them, in defiance of Dr. Ferrati's

orders? Astrid grew pale, and talked of setting off alone.

At this juncture, the Signora Ferrati stepped in, offering to receive

Ragna into her care, and take her back to Florence, where she should

remain under the Doctor's eye until he should declare her fit to

travel. Fru Bjork, although loath to leave the girl, finally agreed to

the arrangement,--indeed, there was nothing else to be done,--and with a

heavy heart, set about her preparations for the return journey.

"I don't like it," she kept repeating to Astrid. "I don't like it at

all. Something tells me that I should not leave Ragna behind. How shall

I explain it to Gitta Boyesen?"

"But, Mother," Astrid would answer, "what else can you do? Ragna can't

take a long journey, and she will be perfectly safe with the

Ferratis--and I must get back to Edvard!"

"Let us hope that it will all work out for the best!" Fru Bjork would

sigh.

Ragna's feelings during these days were mixed. Her relief was great that

Fru Bjork and Astrid should leave without discovering her secret, yet

she felt lonely and helpless at the prospect of being abandoned by her

old and trusting friends,--abandoned to a fate, of which they could have

no idea and which she herself could not foresee. When the time for

leave-taking came, she broke down utterly, and wept in such a

heartbroken fashion, that Fru Bjork untied her bonnet strings, and

sitting down announced firmly:

"We will not go,--I cannot go and leave this child in such a state!"

Almost Ragna would have welcomed this change of decision, but the

realization of what it would mean, the inevitable discovery, and

subsequent shame, brought her to her senses.

"Oh, no, Fru Bjork!" she cried. "It is quite right that you should go! I

would not think of letting you stay, I would not indeed! I shall soon

get well under Dr. Ferrati's care, and you will see me back in

Christiania before you think,"--her heart failed her with the last

words, but she said them boldly. "Dear Fru Bjork, you have been so very,

very kind to me, and I would not, for worlds, keep you now, when it is

your duty to go. Astrid must go to Edvard at once, and she can't go

alone."

"Do you really think that, Ragna? Are you quite sure, child, that you

don't so very much mind being left alone?"

"But I shan't be alone. I shall be with the Signora Ferrati, and you

know how pleasant and kind she is! Really, I don't mind at all.--I am

only sorry at parting with you and Astrid, even if only for a short

time!"

"I wish it could have been helped," said Fru Bjork regretfully. "I don't

like at all leaving you in this way, but as you say, it seems that it

must be so.--Well, good-bye my dear, I am glad you have the Ferratis

anyway--do whatever they advise, and be sure you let me know how you get

on. Good-bye!--Ragna, dear, it does grieve me to leave you!"

She kissed the girl in her motherly way, and followed Astrid to the

door; as she went out, she turned once again to wave her plump hand to

the pale girl lying on the bed, and the door closed behind her.

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

Ragna sat at the window of a little apartment overlooking the Piazza S.

Spirito. The day was hot and the green Venetian shutters left the room

in a refreshing dusk very grateful in comparison to the glare of

sunshine outside, beating pitilessly on the light walls of the houses

across the square and vibrating in waves of heat over the stunted palms

in the garden below. In a shady corner a water-seller who had set up his

little stand, gay with bottles and coloured glasses and was languidly

chaffing a _facchino_ who had come to refresh himself with a glass of

lemonade. The vendor of watermelons, whose stand nearly touched that of

the acquaiolo, had gone to sleep under his lurid sign of firemen rushing

to extinguish the fire simulated by a glorious red melon the size of a

house. Flies droned in the stillness and the girl fanned herself

languidly. The room where she sat was furnished in the usual

shabby-genteel style of the furnished apartment. A table with a cheap

tapestry cover on which stood a glass lamp and a folding case of books

occupied the middle of the room; about it were ranged a few poorly

carved chairs in the Florentine style. A sofa appeared to lean against

the stencilled wall and over it hung a miserable bituminous copy of the

Madonna della Seggiola, in a scaling gilt frame. A wooden shelf along

one wall supported two vases of dried grasses and paper flowers and a

few photographs. There were also yellowed prints of Garibaldi, King

Umberto, Queen Margherita and Vittorio Emanuele II.

Ragna herself occupied a long invalid-chair of rattan and by her side

stood a small table on which were a small vase of fresh flowers, a

half-cut book and a glass of syrup and water.

She had been in Florence about three weeks and had settled herself at

once in the small apartment chosen for her by Dr. Ferrati. She had with

her Carolina her Venetian protégée and who had proved to be just the

person to help her through the difficult time to come. Carolina,

effusively grateful, was devoted to her young mistress and evinced a

truly Latin sympathy, and tact to the delicate situation. To her, at

least, Ragna was a superior person, unfortunate perhaps, but to be

admired and respected none the less.

During the first few days, the newness of it all and the interest

afforded by learning Italian ways of housekeeping and the work of

arranging her belongings, had occupied Ragna's mind, but now that there

was nothing more to do, only to live and wait, her spirits flagged and

she became dull and unable to interest herself in the small details of

her circumscribed existence. Her thoughts had freer scope and wandered

far and wide, increasing in bitterness as the days crawled by. The first

flush of her resolution to down the dictates of society at large by the

arrogance of her individual will and strength of character, had died

down, and she dragged through day after day in a state of dreary apathy.

Egidio Valentini had come to see her several times and was keeping

careful watch over her state of mind in order to seize the psychological

moment for the furtherance of his project. He observed with

satisfaction her growing depression and discontent with herself and her

immediate surroundings. Ferrati gave her as much of his time as he

could, unfortunately, it was but little, absorbed as he was in his

professional duties, and though Virginia was kind, Ragna did not yet

feel quite at ease with her. With Valentini she had many long and

interesting conversations; he could be fascinating when he chose and

with her he did choose, also the consideration and respect of his manner

soothed her irritated self-consciousness, ever on the alert for a

slight. She grew more and more dependent on him and on his visits and he

occupied a larger portion of her thoughts than she would have cared to

admit. She wondered sometimes, if he had penetrated the reason of her

return to Florence, or if he accepted the fable of her ill health. If he

had guessed, nothing in his manner pointed to the fact, and there was

nothing sufficiently marked as yet in Ragna's appearance to make her

condition patent to the inexperienced eye. She thought with dread of the

time when he must know, and wondered how the knowledge would affect him

and their relations, for his good opinion was dear to her and her heart

sank at thought of losing it. She did not often speak to him of Ferrati,

and the latter was in ignorance of the frequency of Egidio's visits, as

he had seen but little of him since the return to Florence and Egidio

was careful to choose his hours with Ragna, when there would be little

likelihood of encountering his friend, as he did not wish to submit

himself to questioning or comment.

Ragna, as she lay in her chair was thinking of Valentini and expecting

him. She was dressed in white piqué and the severe lines of the frock

suited her well. Her hair was arranged partly in plaits piled on the

top of her head, and partly left loose, flowing over the dull blue

cushion behind her head. At her breast she wore a bunch of scented

geranium leaves.

Valentini had promised to bring for her inspection a water colour copy

of one of Botticelli's paintings he was making for the Arundell Society

of London. The continuance of her art studies was the pretext for their

intercourse thinly veiling a loverlike intensity on his part that was

not without its disquieting side to the girl, and on hers a pathetic

dependence on his friendship and company.

She lay waiting, half drowsy with the heat, recollection in abeyance,

idly afloat on a hazy sea of thought. Finally she heard the door-bell

tinkle and Carolina ushered in the visitor. He had left his hat and

stick in the outside passage and entered the salotto carrying in one

hand a bunch of gardenias, and in the other his picture wrapped in

paper. His footsteps rang on the bare tile floor as he advanced to her

side and laid his floral offering on her knees.

"How good of you to come so early," she said.

"Early? I thought the hour would never come! It seems such a long time,

to me at least, since I saw you last. I have brought the picture you

see,--I put the last touches to it this morning."

He unwrapped the picture as he spoke and gave it into her hands. It was

a careful copy of exquisite delicacy of colour and finish and she gazed

on it with a kind of wonder.

"How beautiful it is, and how wonderfully done!"

He flushed with pleasure at the note of genuine admiration in her voice.

"It's my business to do it well," he said simply. "I am glad you like

it." He drew up a chair and seated himself beside her. "They will pay

me well for it," he added, then as he saw the note jarred, "but it is

not for the money I do it, though that is not to be despised--and the

labourer is worthy of his hire. I love the work; it is the greatest

pleasure in the world I think, to do the work one loves and do it well,

to see it growing under one's touch. I lose myself quite and the time

passes without my knowing it. When you are stronger you must take up

your work again and you will feel what a satisfaction it is."

"The lines are all so beautiful," said Ragna tracing them with her

slender forefinger.

"Ah, that is where the old Masters are inimitable especially Botticelli

and his school. Do you not remember what I was saying to you the other

day, that the study of them and their methods is the foundation of all

true art? What do your modern painters make of the use of the line and

the science of draughtsmanship? They slosh on their colours with barely

a thought for structure and the result, pah!"

He took the picture from her as he spoke and propped it up against the

lamp on the centre table. Ragna smiled.

"You are hard on the moderns."

"Hard on them! But I am right to be! They take themselves seriously, not

their work. And their training! Do they begin by grinding the colours

and washing the brushes in the Master's studio and work slowly up from

stage to stage until they become masters in their turn? Not they! They

spend a few months or years in academies or studios or schools and then

when they are tired of serious study, set up for themselves and with

rockety technique and flashy design impress the imagination of the

crowds. They spill pots of paint over their canvases and to hide their

bad drawing, they do things in flat tones because they can't model and

call it decorative art! They work for the commission, and a good price

for a picture, a piece of scamped meretricious work, pure clap-trap,

means more to them than all the traditions of art--yet they talk of Art

for Art's sake! I tell you they are dirt! Dirt!"

He was carried away by his theme and marched up and down the small

salotto, stamping his feet, gesticulating, threatening with annihilation

the entire breed of modern artists. His enthusiasm impressed Ragna; she

saw in it the expression of burning conviction, and its true character

escaped her--that of a facile heat of prejudice easily aroused and

incapable of cool or judicious comparison. Still he was at his best when

talking of art, and his love of it was entirely sincere.

He looked at the girl with a critical eye.

"I should like to paint you there, just as you are; you would make a

delightful study with the reflected light on your white dress and the

harmony of your golden hair and the blue cushion and the green shutters

beyond in that half light. You should have some of the gardenias on the

table by you, though, instead of those pink flowers, to make the colour

scheme perfect--all green and blue and cool with the one relieving note

of your hair." He paused close beside her. "Your hair is the most

beautiful I have ever seen--so fine, so silky--so much of it, and such a

rare shade, like moonlight on gold!" He lifted a shining strand, drawing

it through his fingers with a sort of voluptuous pleasure, then he

raised it to his lips. Ragna shrank away from him, a half-frightened

look in her eyes. He laid a hand on her shoulder, compelling her

glance.

"I love you. Surely you know that, you must have seen it?"

"Don't," she said faintly, "you must not say that!"

"And why not, Ragna cara?" he asked sinking to one knee and pushing

aside the chair he had occupied.

"Don't!" she repeated, drawing back as far as she could.

"Ragna, you know that I love you," he insisted. "I love you, I loved you

before you went to Venice! Do you not remember I told you that you would

come back--to me? And you have, carissima! I think you love me too, is

it not so?"

"I don't, I can't!" she answered wildly. "Oh, Signor Valentini, you

don't know--I have no right to love anyone or to let anyone love me!"

"Why not, dear?" he asked and tried to take possession of her hands but

she resisted him. "I love you, and I want to marry you."

"Oh, please don't, Signor Valentini! We have been such good friends,

please don't spoil it!"

"We have been friends, yes, but we shall be more than friends."

"No! no! That can never be!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Oh, don't ask me! I can't! It is quite impossible; and besides I don't

love you in that way."

"But I love you!"

"I tell you it is impossible."

"But why should it be impossible? I love you, you are more to me than my

life,--I can't live without you. You must be my wife or--" He made a

gesture of utter despair, "Ragna, dearest, you must be mine or my life

is finished."

"Signor Valentini, you must not talk like this--it is quite

impossible."

"But why?"

Ragna closed her eyes wearily and drew a long breath. The moment she

dreaded had come, and so suddenly that she found herself unprepared. She

still tried to gain time.

"Because--because I cannot marry anyone. But it should be enough that I

do not love you."

"But I will marry you without that and trust to the future."

"I tell you it is impossible for me to marry anyone."

He rose to his feet and stood looking down at her searchingly. She

turned uneasily under his gaze, and reddened, her fan slipped from her

knees to the floor.

"Ragna," he said reproachfully, "what is it? Cannot you tell me? I am

not like other men, I love you for yourself alone, you can tell me

anything, anything,--nothing would change my feeling for you. Have I not

been a good friend? Have I not earned the right to your confidence? Tell

me all, dear,--you owe me at least an explanation of your refusal."

Ragna obstinately kept the lids lowered over her eyes; she twisted and

untwisted her fingers in silent agony.

"Tell me, dear," he plead.

She looked up at him piteously. "Why do you insist? Don't you see that

you are hurting me?"

"You have said too much or too little," he answered. "In justice to me

and to yourself you should take me into your confidence."

She sat up, a dull flush spreading over her face. "Since you will know

then, it is this: I am going to have a child." She sank back, covering

her face with her hands.

"Ragna!" his cry rang out in the stillness. She heard him sink to a

chair, pushing it back as he did so with a grating noise on the tiled

floor. Presently he rose and came to her side, she remained motionless;

he drew her resisting hands down from her face.

"Ragna, is this true?"

She nodded, not daring to look at him. He knelt beside her.

"Ragna, will you be my wife? Have I proved that I love you, now?"

She gazed at him in amazement.

"What! you still--?"

"Yes, dearest, I still love you. I told you that I was not like other

men, I love you for yourself. Whatever your past may have been, if you

have been unfortunate, all the more reason that I should protect your

future, that I should give you the shield of my name."

"But there is not only myself, there is the child," she said weakly.

He frowned but recovered himself instantly.

"The child? I shall love it as I would my own,--is it not yours? I shall

recognise it--it will be mine."

"You are generous," she said, "but I cannot accept, it would be taking

an unfair advantage--I should be doing you a wrong."

"That is as I choose to look at it, and I don't consider it is."

"But I don't love you."

"Do you love anyone else?" He asked with swift scrutiny.

"No."

"Then you will love me in time--as long as there is no one else I am

sure of that. All I ask is that you should marry me, that you should

accept the protection I offer. For the child's sake you must

accept--you can't refuse your child an honourable name. You will come to

love me dear, I know it, and until that time I will be a brother to you,

a friend, nothing more. All I ask is the privilege of helping you!"

He was carried away by the nobility of the pose, it was a fine attitude

_un beau giste_; it fired his histrionic imagination and gave a ring of

sincerity to his voice. For a moment he believed in himself as the

chivalrous rescuer of distressed damsels.

"You do not know all, let me tell you all," she demurred.

"Yes, you must give me your entire confidence--you owe me that."

So she told him the whole story, and he pressed her hand the while to

show his sympathy. At the end she paused, waiting--

"I can only repeat what I said before, dear: will you consent to marry

me? If you like, don't think of yourself at all, think of me--I am a

lonely man, an unhappy man, I have had a hard, disappointing life. You

have become the lodestar of my life, you, Ragna! With you beside me I

can do great things: I need you dear, without you life would be a

desert. Last year I was very ill with typhoid fever, I nearly died; I

was alone, no one loved me, no one cared whether I lived or died. If I

were to be ill again who would care for me, who would nurse me? Whom

have I to welcome me when I come home at night tired and discouraged?

Oh, Ragna, say 'yes,' do! and I will love you always for that word!"

His voice rose and fell in impassioned cadence, his eyes burned into

hers, how was she not to believe him? How was she to refuse the succour

so timely offered, seemingly so disinterested? Still she made an

effort.

"I must think it over, you must go away and let me think--oh, don't

imagine I do not recognise your generosity--but I cannot think it right

for me to take advantage of it."

"Ragna," he said solemnly, "this means more to me than you think. I told

you that my life without you would be worth nothing to me. I give you my

word of honour that if you refuse I will kill myself--I can't live

without you. I mean what I say and I always speak the truth. When I was

a little boy in the _collegio_ Cardinal Ferri who was the head-master

used to call me up when there had been any mischief, and say to me:

'Tell me the straight of this, Valentini, you are the only one I know

who always speaks the truth!' and I would weep, I would struggle, but I

had to tell the truth, and I did. And remember, Ragna, if you marry me,

I will be a brother to you, dear, it will be enough for me just to have

you near me, to feel your sweet presence in the house, to have your

society always:--I will not ask for more unless you give it of your own

accord."

"Give me time," said Ragna desperately, "give me time to think it over."

"Very well, I will give you until to-morrow at this hour. I shall come

for my answer,--and if it is not 'yes,' you know what will happen, I

swear it!" He released her hands and she passed them over her face.

"Till to-morrow," she said, "that is not much time."

"It is enough,--and it is too long for a man to wait for his death

sentence or for the gift of life. Oh, Ragna, I do love you so! It must

be yes."

"Now you must go," she said.

"Don't send me away, dear,--here at least I can see you, I am with you,

life is possible. Let me stay a little longer!"

"No, you must go now, I can't think clearly with you here. If you want

your answer to-morrow you must go now."

"I will go then, dear, since you wish it--see how obedient I am! You can

do anything with me, anything, Ragna darling! Give me one kiss then and

I will go?"

He bent over her but she turned her head away.

"No, not that! and you said in any case that you would be content to be

a brother to me."

"But you would let a brother kiss you! Just one, darling!"

"No," she said firmly and he saw that it would be unwise to insist.

"As you will, then, dear,--see, again I yield to your wish, and

to-morrow you will give me my answer--remember what it will mean to me

and to you."

He rose and slowly crossed the room and, as he reached the door, turned

with the one word,

"Remember!"

Left alone, Ragna felt overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the turn her

affairs had taken and torn with doubt as to the course to pursue. She

did not question Egidio's sincerity, had she not seen the tears in his

eyes as he pleaded with her? And besides what ulterior motive could he

possibly have? She was consumed with gratitude for his generosity, the

offer of his name and protection to a girl in her position--to her it

would mean salvation. Marriage with a man who knew all and in spite of

it loved her still, would be a haven of refuge, it would save her

reputation and give her child the advantage of a father's name. But

could she accept the offer, could she accept the charity of it? True,

Egidio had put it as a benefit to be conferred still more on him than on

her--but even so, could she accept? With her woman's knowledge of the

facts of life and marriage, could she be his wife? She did not love him

and the thought of submitting to his kisses and caresses sickened her

with physical repugnance--but then he had said he would be a brother, a

friend, nothing more, that merely to have her by his side would satisfy

him. As a friend she liked him and found him interesting, and his person

was not unpleasing apart from that faint underlying sense of physical

repulsion she was conscious of in his presence. Then his threat of

suicide,--he meant it, she could see that! Could she take upon herself

the responsibility of driving him to such desperate courses? Could she

bear the thought of his blood upon her head in addition to her burthen,

heavy enough already, in all conscience? Still marriage, a binding

contract involving her whole life and his,--could she honestly bring

herself to accept?

She rose and feverishly paced the floor, refusing the refreshment of

eggs and milk that Carolina brought her. Oh, why was this decision

forced upon her now? The more she thought the more confused did she

become. All arguments were in favour of her accepting and she was at a

loss to explain her reluctance. Some hidden instinct warned her against

it,--but could she in justice to herself, to Valentini, and above all,

to the child--could she refuse? He had said that he would love the child

as his own, might not the child himself, reproach her some day for

bringing him into the world nameless, a bastard, when it had lain with

her to give him an honourable name and position? For the child's sake

could she dare to refuse? Surely for his sake, she could fulfill her

part of the contract, be an affectionate friend, a faithful and dutiful

helpmate, wife in name only? Finally in her perplexity, she decided to

lay the case before Ferrati and abide by his judgment in the matter. He,

a man of the world, a friend both of herself and of Valentini would know

what was right, would counsel her wisely. This decision brought her some

measure of calm, but when she was in bed her torment returned, and she

spent the night feverishly arguing the pros and cons.

Valentini, on the contrary, slept well, he was entirely satisfied with

the trend of his affairs, with the way he had managed the interview and

felt quite sure of the girl's ultimate decision. Fru Boyesen's fortune

loomed large in his expectant imagination.