Ragna. Anna Miller Costantini
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