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