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!"