“‘Changed clothes with a gentleman!’ they exclaimed. ‘What do you mean?’ “And the mole-catcher began to laugh outright, and leading them to a gap in the hedge, pointed away into the distance. “‘There he be, sir; there he be,’ he said, laughing till he almost choked. ‘It be naught but a scarecrow; but the scarecrows they’ve kep’ me in clothes for many a year.’” Frithiof broke out into a ringing boyish laugh; it was the first time he had laughed for weeks. Cecil guessed as much, and blessed Signor Donati for having been the cause; but as she remembered what the young Norwegian had been only a few months before, she could not help feeling sad—could not help wondering what sorrow had changed him so terribly. Had Blanche Morgan been faithful to him? she wondered. Or had his change of fortune put an end to everything between them? In any case he must greatly resent the way in which his father had been treated by the English firm, and that alone must make matters very difficult for the two lovers. Musing over it all, she became silent and abstracted, and on returning to the drawing-room took up a newspaper, glancing aimlessly down the columns, and wondering what her father and Roy would advise Frithiof to do, and how the discussion in the study was prospering. All at once her heart began to beat wildly, for she had caught sight of some lines which threw a startling light on Frithiof’s changed manner, lines which also revealed to her the innermost recesses of her own heart. “The marriage arranged between Lord Romiaux and Miss Blanche Morgan, only daughter of Austin Morgan, Esq., will take place on the 30th instant, at Christ Church, Lancaster Gate.” She was half-frightened at the sudden rage which took possession of her, at the bitterness of the indignation which burned in her heart. What right had Blanche Morgan to play with men? to degrade love to a mere pastime? to make the most sacred thing in the world the sport of a summer holiday? to ruin men’s lives for her own amusement? to lure on a mere boy and flatter and deceive him; then quietly to throw him over? “And how about yourself?” said a voice in her heart. “Are you quite free from what you blame in Blanche Morgan? Will you not be tempted to hope that he may like you? Will you not try to please him? Will it not be a pleasure to you if he cares for your singing?” “All that is quite true,” she admitted. “I do care to please him; I can’t help it; but oh, God! let me die rather than do him harm!”