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"I! Run away!" thought Freya to herself, without looking down at



the scared girl. "Never."

Both the resolutemistress under the mosquito-net and the



frightened maid lying curled up on a mat at the foot of the bed did

not sleep very well that night. The person that did not sleep at



all was Lieutenant Heemskirk. He lay on his back staring

vindictively in the darkness. Inflaming images and humiliating



reflections succeeded each other in his mind, keeping up,

augmenting his anger. A pretty tale this to get about! But it



must not be allowed to get about. The outrage had to be swallowed

in silence. A pretty affair! Fooled, led on, and struck by the



girl - and probably fooled by the father, too. But no. Nielsen

was but another victim of that shameless hussy, that brazen minx,



that sly, laughing, kissing, lying . . .

"No; he did not deceive me on purpose," thought the tormented



lieutenant. "But I should like to pay him off, all the same, for

being such an imbecile - "



Well, some day, perhaps. One thing he was firmlyresolved on: he

had made up his mind to steal early out of the house. He did not



think he could face the girl without going out of his mind with

fury.



"Fire and perdition! Ten thousand devils! I shall choke here

before the morning!" he muttered to himself, lying rigid on his



back on old Nelson's bed, his breast heaving for air.

He arose at daylight and started cautiously to open the door.



Faint sounds in the passage alarmed him, and remaining concealed he

saw Freya coming out. This unexpected sight deprived him of all



power to move away from the crack of the door. It was the

narrowest crack possible, but commanding the view of the end of the



verandah. Freya made for that end hastily to watch the brig

passing the point. She wore her dark dressing-gown; her feet were



bare, because, having fallen asleep towards the morning, she ran

out headlong in her fear of being too late. Heemskirk had never



seen her looking like this, with her hair drawn back smoothly to

the shape of her head, and hanging in one heavy, fair tress down



her back, and with that air of extreme youth, intensity, and

eagerness. And at first he was amazed, and then he gnashed his



teeth. He could not face her at all. He muttered a curse, and

kept still behind the door.



With a low, deep-breathed "Ah!" when she first saw the brig already

under way, she reached for Nelson's long glass reposing on brackets



high up the wall. The wide sleeve of the dressing-gown slipped

back, uncovering her white arm as far as the shoulder. Heemskirk



gripping the door-handle, as if to crush it, felt like a man just

risen to his feet from a drinking bout.



And Freya knew that he was watching her. She knew. She had seen

the door move as she came out of the passage. She was aware of his



eyes being on her, with scornfulbitterness, with triumphant

contempt.



"You are there," she thought, levelling the long glass. "Oh, well,

look on, then!"



The green islets appeared like black shadows, the ashen sea was

smooth as glass, the clear robe of the colourless dawn, in which



even the brig appeared shadowy, had a hem of light in the east.

Directly Freya had made out Jasper on deck, with his own long glass



directed to the bungalow, she laid hers down and raised both her

beautiful white arms above her head. In that attitude of supreme



cry she stood still, glowing with the consciousness of Jasper's

adoration going out to her figure held in the field of his glass



away there, and warmed, too, by the feeling of evil passion, the

burning, covetous eyes of the other, fastened on her back. In the



fervour of her love, in the caprice of her mind, and with that

mysterious knowledge of masculine nature women seem to be born to,



she thought:

"You are looking on - you will - you must! Then you shall see



something."

She brought both her hands to her lips, then flung them out,



sending a kiss over the sea, as if she wanted to throw her heart

along with it on the deck of the brig. Her face was rosy, her eyes



shone. Her repeated, passionate gesture seemed to fling kisses by

the hundred again and again and again, while the slowly ascending



sun brought the glory of colour to the world, turning the islets

green, the sea blue, the brig below her white - dazzlingly white in



the spread of her wings - with the red ensign streaming like a tiny

flame from the peak.



And each time she murmured with a rising inflexion:




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