‘At my old address. The landlady knows me, and is very kind. I do not intend to remain over to-morrow, unless you want me. You see, I have to leave the--the--little one with mother, and he is getting rather troublesome now.’ ‘Is he quite well?’ inquired Frederick, wistfully. ‘Yes; but can you come and see me to-night?’ ‘I can, and I will, at seven o’clock. Till then, good-bye.’ And he let her cautiously out of the front door. CHAPTER VIII. The young priest was punctual to his appointment, and found Rhoda ready to receive him. She was alone, and in the room where they had so often met before, yet she displayed no self-consciousness of the fact. It was evident that she had accepted the position, in which they now stood to one another, as final. Frederick Walcheren a priest was as dead to her as if he lay in his grave. She saw in him only a friend, whom she had once dearly loved and trusted in, to be advised, comforted and maybe led aright. Had she been a Catholic, this state of mind would not have been extraordinary on her part, since, for a Catholic to think of a priest otherwise than a priest, would be sacrilege. But Rhoda was a Protestant, who had been brought up to detest Popery, and everything connected with it, so that the reverential attitude she now assumed towards her former lover was due, not to his Church, but himself. She cared nothing, individually, for his office, but she still cared too much for him to tempt him to say a word, or do an act, which should become a reproach to him. She rose as he entered, but did not even hold out her hand in greeting. All the courtesy she extended, was to ask him if he would like a cup of tea after his walk. ‘Thanks, Rhoda,’ he replied; ‘I think it would be very refreshing, for I have just come off a long round of visits. The women of the poorer classes I can see at any time, but it is only in the evenings that I can catch the men.’ ‘But there is not nearly so much trouble to induce the men to go to church in your religion as there is in ours, or so I have heard,’ said the girl, as she busied herself with the kettle and the teapot. ‘No, I suppose not, because they are reared from infancy to believe that it is a mortal sin not to attend Mass once on a Sunday. And a mortal sin, unconfessed, means, with us, eternal damnation. But what is the use, Rhoda, of a duty performed under such a dread? If it is only done from fear of hell, it may as well not be done at all.’