"I do so hate to deceive them all! What would Fru Bjork say if she knew?" "Has she never been young herself? If you knew, Ragna, the memories that half these good and prudish ladies carry under their starched fronts, you would be surprised. There is a proverb that says, 'when you are too old to give yourself to the Devil it is time to turn to God!'" Then seeing she looked shocked; "there, don't mind what I say,--I am so glad you have come that I am not half responsible. You can take my word for it that you are doing nothing very terrible. Do you think for a moment I would ask you to?" "No," she answered. "And you are glad you came?" "I feel as if I were being carried off by a brigand," said Ragna. The Prince wore a broad-brimmed soft felt hat casting the upper part of his face into deep shadow, he had thrown round him an Italian military cloak, the folds of which flung up and over his left shoulder had the grace of a toga. He really looked not unlike the gallant brigand of romance. "Oh, indeed!" he laughed, "and supposing I were to carry you off, far away across the Campagne to a castle in the hills and hold you for ransom, what then?" "What ransom would you set on me?" "A ransom no one could pay but yourself--a king's ransom: your love. And the day you give it you would be free to go--if you so wished." He spoke jestingly but his voice had a deep undertone that thrilled the girl. "Would you pay the ransom, oh, captive?" "Even a captive lady could not love to order," laughed Ragna. "But could you not love a man, who for love of you carried you away from all the world and made you his by force? I think you would--every woman is really a Sabine at heart!" Ragna was spared the necessity of answering by the carriage drawing up at the entrance to the Colosseum. "Shall we keep him?" asked Mirko, as he helped her to alight. "No! no. Let us walk back." Mirko dismissed the vetturino, who with much cracking of his whip, made his way to the nearest osteria there to drink the health of the mad forestieri who would risk any sort of "malanno" to see an old ruin by moonlight. The moon rode high in the heavens and the great building stood out clear and sharp in the silvery light, the inky shadows seemed pregnant with mystery. Ragna almost looked to see the ghosts of martyrs in horrid procession, threading the gloomy archways. A shadow in the arena seemed a pool of blood. Above, in the tribunes, bloodthirsty multitudes had watched, breathless, the matchless show,--and well might the Vestal-virgins cover their faces, of what avail the fate deciding thumb when maidens and lions meet in the amphitheatre? "Is it not wonderful?" asked Mirko. "Wonderful, but horrible," said Ragna, "if ghosts walk anywhere on earth, surely they must walk here! Think of all these walls have looked down on!"