‘I have not come to ask anything of you, Fred,’ said Rhoda, in a reproachful voice. ‘I think you might know that without my telling you. I am here as your friend only. I heard that you were in trouble, and I wanted to see if I could be of any use to you.’ ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he replied nervously. ‘It is kind of you to have thought of it. Won’t you sit down?’ Rhoda seated herself on one of the rush-bottomed chairs, whilst Frederick took another as far as possible from her. ‘What is it that I can do for you?’ he commenced, in a stiff voice. ‘Nothing,’ replied the girl, ‘only tell me about yourself. Is it true that you are a widower? I am so sorry for you! And why are you living in this place? What have you to do with a training college?’ ‘I am here as a probationer, or novice, Rhoda. It is evident you know nothing about me. I am about to enter the Church and become a priest.’ ‘A priest! Oh, Fred, never! _You_ a priest? You’ll never stick to it. You will be tired to death of it in three months.’ This prophecy seemed to offend the young man exceedingly, the more so as he had occasional doubts whether it might not be true. ‘You do not know what you are talking of,’ he returned, grandiloquently. ‘A priest once is a priest for ever. There will be no going back. Once ordained, my fate is fixed for life.’ ‘Will there be _no_ getting out of it; not even if you thought it right?’ exclaimed Rhoda, with open eyes. ‘Certainly not. Once admitted to the Church, there can be no leaving her without everlasting disgrace and loss of one’s salvation.’ ‘Oh, Fred!’ cried the girl, ‘think twice before you take such an irrevocable step. You will repent it; I am sure you will. But what made you think of it? What put such an idea into your head?’ ‘The Almighty, in His infinite goodness,’ replied Frederick. ‘You have heard, you say, of my great loss. It was that which first brought me to my senses. It was so sudden--so terrible! I could see God’s finger of wrath so plainly in it, that it mercifully opened my eyes to my true condition.’ ‘Do you think, then,’ said the girl, timidly, ‘that God revenges Himself on us for our petty, thoughtless sins, by torturing or cutting off the life of some one we love? If _you_ were the sinner, why should _she_ have died to bring you to a sense of your wickedness? Why should an innocent girl be used as a burnt-offering for your sins? And how can you better matters by becoming a priest? Are there not plenty of priests? Is it impossible to show God that you are sorry for the past in some other way?’ ‘Rhoda, as you truly say, you do not understand. You have not been brought up in our blessed faith. I wish you had. Then you would know there is no expiation for sin without blood shedding. When my beloved wife was taken from me I was nearly mad--’ ‘Tell me of her,’ interposed Rhoda, softly. ‘I would rather hear about her than the Church.’