But Frederick Walcheren knew nothing of it. He was hastening with all dispatch, and in a state of the greatest excitement, to seek an interview with his superior. But Father Henniker was unable to see him. The heart spasms, which he occasionally suffered from, had been more violent than usual, and the doctor had ordered him to see no one that evening. So Father Walcheren sent up an entreaty for leave of absence on business of an important nature, which was immediately granted him. He was bursting with the intelligence which had been communicated to him. He felt that he must consult some friend as to the action he should take concerning it. He could not wait until the morning. It was coming between him and all his duties. Since he could not see Father Henniker, he would ask for an interview with his old friend, Father Tasker. So it was at his residence that he presented himself, late in the evening. ‘What is the matter, my dear brother?’ demanded Father Tasker. ‘You look agitated.’ ‘Agitated!’ echoed Frederick, ‘I am bewildered--mad!’ ‘Why, whatever can be the reason? You alarm me by such violent expressions.’ ‘Father Tasker, you have known my story from the beginning--all my fears, hopes, misery and despair. You know how my beloved wife was snatched from me; how I mourned her loss, and wondered over the mystery of it.’ ‘Yes, yes; but forgive me, my dear friend, I hoped these sad thoughts had all been swallowed up in the love of God and the blessings of His holy Church.’ ‘They will never be swallowed up by anything so long as my life lasts,’ cried Frederick, in his old impetuous way, ‘but while I believed God had taken her from me, I could be, in a measure, resigned to His will. But to-day I have found out that it was _not_ by His will that we were so cruelly separated. She was murdered! Killed by a man! Pushed over those cruel cliffs!--oh! my poor darling, why did I let you leave my sight for one moment? Why was I not there to protect you from his villainy?--and dashed to pieces on the beach beneath, out of a spirit of wicked jealousy and revenge! And I have come to ask you to tell me, as a man, _what shall I do_? Think of the days when you were free, when you, too, perhaps, loved and lost, and advise me how to act, to bring this murderer to justice?’ Father Tasker was visibly affected by this recital. He had not yet forgotten what it was to feel like a man, and the distress of poor Frederick Walcheren touched him to the quick. ‘My poor lad,’ he replied, forgetting for the moment the sacred office which his young friend had taken upon himself, ‘I am deeply grieved to hear this story. I had so hoped that your new and blessed duties would completely drive all such memories from your mind. To have them renewed in this painful manner is most distressing. But where did you hear this intelligence, Frederick? Are you sure that it is correct, or only a base rumour set up to annoy you?’