"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!"