There were five occupants of the room, all of whom were known to the foreman, except the dark-haired girl at the piano. Herbert Karne stood with his back to the fireplace exhibiting a book of sketches to the white-haired vicar of Durlston. Seated on a low chair in the roseate glow of the lamp was the vicar’s daughter, her fingers busily plying a piece of fancy-work; and facing her, by the side of the grand piano, stood Celia Franks, singing with all her heart. “_Hear ye, Israel! hear what the Lord speaketh: Oh, hadst thou heeded, heeded My commandments!_” Sweetly and half reproachfully she sang the words to their melodious accompaniment. Her eyes were dimly fixed on the dark swaying trees in the garden; her thoughts were far from the lighted room. Then more solemnly she enunciated the question: “_Who hath believed our report? To whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?_” Afterwards recurring to the exhortation, “_Hear ye!_” and closing with the pathetic appeal in the minor key, “_Israel!... Israel!_” A wave of emotion swept over Emil Blatz as he listened; the mellifluous beauty of the melody almost carried him away. He knew not whom he envied the more: Mendelssohn for having composed such music, or the young singer for her power to interpret it in that way. The words, too, sounded in his ear with peculiar significance; they seemed like a justification of the singer’s faith. Suddenly the voice ceased its tender note of appeal; and after a few bars of recitative, burst forth into a triumphant assurance of divine protection, followed by the sublime meditation:-- “_Say, who art thou, that art afraid of a man that shall die? And forgettest the Lord thy Maker, Who hath stretched forth the heavens, and laid the earth’s foundations? Be not afraid, for I, thy God, will strengthen thee!_” To Blatz there was a note of defiance in the girl’s rendering of the dramatic music: the very poise of her head, as she sang the “_Be not afraid_,” seemed like a challenge to those who were her enemies. In his simplicity he forgot that she was quite unconscious of her uninvited listener, and that the words were not her own. When the last note died away, he moved towards the hall door: he had made up his mind that the artist must be warned. Karne received him in the smoke-room, expecting that he had been deputed to bring him the written apology he claimed. He was disappointed to learn that such was not the case; but although he had no desire to remain at enmity with Mendel’s people, he fully meant to stand his ground. The foreman explained that he had not come on behalf of the people, but merely to acquaint the artist privately of the strong ill-feeling that existed against him, and to advise him to take measures towards self-protection. The situation was graver than he knew.