But Philip Walcheren did think of it. He made inquiries, before he left the college, as to what visitors his cousin had received, and heard that a young woman had been closeted with him for nearly an hour in the early part of the day. So he went straight to Father Tasker with the story, the result of which was that the priest also paid Frederick a visit, and had a long conversation with him upon the subject. Philip had told him that his cousin showed such signs of wavering that, if he were allowed to converse with many more young women, or to renew his old worldly associations, there were grave doubts if he might not give up the idea of being a priest altogether. And that meant, in the estimation of them both, not only the loss of his fortune for the Church, but the loss of himself for heaven. So the father used his utmost casuistry to persuade the novice that the feelings he complained of were only so many signs of God’s interest in him, and that it was because He loved His son so much that He permitted him to be chastised by doubts and perplexities. He ran over the old gauntlet of Jenny’s peril in purgatory; of her present sufferings, which Frederick would augment tenfold by any defalcation; of his promises to offer the Mass daily for her relief, and of the probability that if he drew back, after he had put his hand to the plough, _she_ would be the innocent victim of his defalcation. He raked up the old wound, now gradually closing, till it streamed with blood; he made his disciple writhe under his scathing reminders; and, finally, he made him look so mean in his own eyes, that the young man was fairly baited into retracting all he had said to his cousin, and declaring he had never had any intention of giving up the Church, or going back from his plighted word. The priest, however, was not satisfied, and sought an early interview with his Superior, during which they decided that, for the good of the Church, and this poor, wavering soul, Frederick Walcheren’s ordination had better take place as soon as possible, for which purpose several letters passed between them and higher authorities, and the day for the ceremony was fixed for a much earlier date than had been at first intended. Meantime, Frederick was silenced, but not convinced. Had he been less sick of the world and its gaieties at the time--had his nerves not been so unstrung from the shock they had received--he would not have given in a second time so easily, but he was too tired (mentally) to argue the point. It was less trouble to say ‘Yes,’ than to keep on repeating ‘No,’ and he really did not seem to care which way it turned out; so he yielded with a sigh, and tried to persuade himself that it was of no consequence--that nothing would be of any consequence to him evermore.