“He heard a discourse on the Norwegian character which happened to be in the _Daily News_, by good luck,” said Roy, smiling. “By-the-by, it will amuse you, take it home.” And, drawing the folded paper from his coat-pocket, he handed it to Frithiof. “He gave me such a furious glance as he passed by, that I was sure something had annoyed him,” said Frithiof. “Never mind, it is the last you will have from him,” said Roy, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “He has vowed that he will never darken our doors again. Think what a reign of peace will set in.” “He has really retired, then?” said Frithiof. “I was afraid it must be so. I can’t stand it, Roy; I can’t let you make such a sacrifice for me.” “Sacrifice! stuff and nonsense!” said Roy cheerfully. “I have not felt so free and comfortable for an age. We shall be well rid of the old bore.” “But his capital?” “Goes away with him,” said Roy; “it will only be a slight inconvenience; probably he will hurt himself far more than he hurts us, and serve him right, too. If there’s a man on earth I detest it is my worthy cousin James Horner.” Frithiof naturally shared this sentiment, yet still he felt very sorry that Mr. Horner had kept his word and left the firm, for all through the autumn he had been hoping that he might relent and that his bark would prove worse than his bite. The sense of being under such a deep obligation to the Bonifaces was far from pleasant to him; however, there seemed no help for it and he could only balance it against the great relief of being free from James Horner’s continual provocations. Later in the evening, when supper was over, he went round to see Herr Sivertsen about some fresh work, and on returning to the model lodgings found Swanhild alone. “Where is Sigrid?” he asked. “She has gone in to see the Hallifields,” replied the little girl, glancing up from the newspaper which she was reading. “You look like the picture of Mother Hubbard’s dog, that Lance is so fond of,” he said, smiling. “Your English must be getting on, or you wouldn’t care for the _Daily News_. Are you reading the praises of the Norse character?” As he spoke he leaned over her shoulder to look at the letter which Roy had mentioned; but Swanhild had turned to the inner sheet and was deep in what seemed to her strangely interesting questions and answers continued down three columns. A hurried glance at the beginning showed Frithiof in large type the words, “The Romiaux Divorce Case.” He tore the paper away from her, crushed it in his hands, and threw it straight into the fire. Swanhild looked up in sudden panic, terrified beyond measure by his white face and flashing eyes, terrified still more by the unnatural tone in his voice when he spoke. “You are never to read such things,” he said vehemently. “Do you understand? I am your guardian and I forbid you.”