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"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.
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