‘Talk to me just as you will, Rhoda,’ he said, ‘I love to hear you. How can I say I am glad you have this little child to comfort you, when I remember all the shame and sorrow he has brought you, and of which I am the cause? Yet, perhaps, God knows best, and sent him with a holy purpose. May He bless you both, and reward you for your sweet, womanly goodness to me. I cannot. Will you tell me some more about him?’ he added, humbly. ‘Why, yes, of course, Fred, if you care to hear it! But mother says, if I once begin talking of my black crow, as she calls him, I never stop.’ ‘Is he so very dark, then?’ asked the young man, gazing at the girl’s golden hair. ‘Oh! yes, not a bit like me, thank goodness! His eyes are like black velvet, and so is his hair. I am glad of that. He reminds me of you! And he has six teeth, and eats crusts like anything! And he can say “muvver” and “danny” quite well!’ ‘Nothing else?’ inquired Frederick, wistfully. ‘Only “sugar”,’ replied Rhoda, looking at him as much as to say, ‘How can I teach him of a father he will never know?’ ‘And your mother,’ continued Walcheren, ‘did she pronounce Anathema Maranatha on me, Rhoda, for the shabby trick I played you?’ ‘She was very, very angry at first, Fred. She could hardly help being that; but she has been an angel of goodness to me all through. And she is really very fond of Freddy, now!’ ‘You called him after me!’ cried the young man, eagerly. ‘Was I wrong? Are you angry?’ said Rhoda, colouring from cheek to brow. ‘Angry! No! why should I be, only you might have called the poor bantling after a better man.’ ‘_I_ did not think so,’ said Rhoda, simply. There was a long pause between them before the young man rose to take his leave. How strange it seemed that, all at once, he had become timid in the presence of this young girl who had such faith in him. They had been so much to each other, and now they were so little; such a wide gulf separated their interests and lives. And yet there was one tiny link between them which neither could ever forget. ‘It is getting late! I must go,’ said Frederick, as he stood up and held out his hand to her. Rhoda took it in a lifeless manner. She dared not press it--it was the hand of a priest, not of her lover. Yet, not to press it, and when he was in trouble, seemed so hard. But she dropped it instead, as if her own had no power to retain it. ‘Good-night!’ she murmured. ‘God bless you, Frederick, and help you out of this new trouble. I shall go back to Luton by the first train to-morrow.’