Hindes entered, looking very cringing and humiliated. He glanced round the small, bare chamber on entering, to see if there was any third person present to listen to their conversation, but perceiving they were alone, he plucked up courage to advance a little nearer. He had made up his mind to learn the worst, for he could wrestle no longer with his agony of suspense. As he advanced, Frederick Walcheren retreated till the distance of the room lay between them. ‘Not a step nearer, Mr Hindes,’ he ejaculated; ‘give me some chance of remaining master of myself! Now, what have you to say to me?’ ‘Are you sure we are quite alone?’ inquired his visitor, glancing around him fearfully; ‘that we shall not be overheard?’ ‘No one will hear you,’ replied Frederick. ‘I know you--you recognised my voice the other day,’ commenced Hindes, ‘and I felt I must speak to you on the subject. I have understood that every word uttered in the confessional is sacred--that a priest dare not reveal it, even if he would. Is that true?’ ‘It is true!’ replied the other. ‘And that a priest’s word would not be taken, even if he did repeat what he heard as a confessor--that he would be disgraced and stripped of his cloth in consequence, so that the secrets told in confession are as inviolate as the grave!’ ‘You have been informed aright. Were it not so, the sacrament of confession would be at a discount. Penitents would be afraid to tell of their sins, the greatest of which they confide to the ears of their confessor without the slightest fear.’ ‘I wanted to make sure I had been informed aright,’ continued Hindes, with the sweat of fear and agitation standing thick upon his brow, ‘so I thought I would come and ask you straight. You must be aware that I did not know I was addressing you last week, Mr Walcheren; in fact, I had not heard that you had entered the Church. Naturally, you would have been the last person I should have chosen for such a confidence.’ ‘Naturally!’ repeated Frederick. ‘It was an awful thing to have to say,’ said Hindes, trembling; ‘but you assure me it will go no further. I will do anything to ensure this. Become a Catholic to-morrow, or leave the country and promise not to return to it. I am truly penitent, Mr Walcheren, indeed I am, and ready to prove my sincerity in any way you may choose to point out to me!’ ‘I have already told you, sir, that the secrets of the confessional are inviolate, and the Church demands no penance except such as shall be pleasing to Almighty God! Since you say you are penitent, you have, doubtless, said the same to Him.’ ‘Yes, indeed! I have tried to pray, but heaven seems so far off for such as I. But it was hardly a crime. It was more an accident than anything else. If I could only make you believe this.’ ‘I always did believe it, until your own lips told me otherwise.’