It was the first real comfort that had come to her since their trouble, and, although before Frithiof she was brave and cheerful, in his absence she became terribly anxious and depressed. But with the comfort there came a fresh care, for something at that moment revealed to her Cecil’s secret. Perhaps it was the burning cheek, that was pressed to hers, or perhaps a sort of thrill in her companion’s voice as she spoke those vehement words, and declared her perfect faith in Frithiof. The thought filled her with hot indignation against Blanche. “Has she not only spoilt Frithiof’s life, but Cecil’s too?” she said to herself. And in despair she looked on into the future, and back into the sad past. “If it had not been for Blanche he might have loved her—I think he would have loved her And oh! how happy she would have made him! how different his whole life would have been! But now, with disgrace, and debt, and broken health, all that is impossible for him. Blanche has robbed him, too, of the very power of loving; she has cheated him out of his heart. Her hateful flirting has ruined the happiness of two people, probably of many more, for Frithiof was not the only man whom she deceived. Oh! why does God give women the power to bring such misery into the world?” She was recalled from her angry thoughts by Cecil’s voice; it was sweet and gentle again now, and no longer vehement. “Do you know, Sigrid,” she said, “I have great hopes in Roy. He will be home to-night, and he will come to it all like an outsider, and I think, perhaps, he will throw some light on the mystery. I shall meet him at Charing Cross, and as we drive home, will tell him just what happened.” “Is it to-night he comes home?” said Sigrid, with a depth of relief in her tone. “Oh, how glad I am! But there is Swanhild back again. You wont say anything before her, for we have not mentioned it to her; there seemed no reason why she should be made unhappy, and Frithiof likes to feel that one person is unharmed by his trouble.” “Yes, one can understand that,” said Cecil. “And Swanhild is such a child, one would like to shelter her from all unhappiness. Are you sure that you don’t mind my staying. Would you not rather be alone to-night?” “Oh, no, no,” said Sigrid. “Do stay to supper. It will show Frithiof that you do not think any the worse of him for this—it will please him so much.” They went back to the sitting-room and began to prepare the evening meal; and when, presently, Frithiof returned from his work, the first thing he caught sight of on entering the room was Cecil’s sweet, open-looking face. She was standing by the table arranging flowers, but came forward quickly to greet him. Her color was a little deeper than usual, her hand-clasp a little closer, but otherwise she behaved exactly as if nothing unusual had happened. “I have most unceremoniously asked myself to supper,” she said, “for I have to meet Roy at half-past eight.”