‘Good God!’ she said under her breath, ‘how did it happen? To whom did you speak? What made you do it?’ ‘My evil genius, I suppose,’ replied Hindes, grovelling on the sofa. ‘I could not bear the misery and the suspense any longer. It was burning into my soul like a red-hot iron, and I thought, if I confessed it, I might find consolation. So I went into a Roman Catholic confessional one day last week, and told my story to the priest. And who do you suppose he turned out to be?’ ‘How can I tell? I know no priests.’ ‘Frederick Walcheren!’ ‘Frederick Walcheren!’ cried his wife; ‘but how came he to be in a confessional?’ ‘He _is_ a priest! He entered the Church, it seems, after--after--you know what! And I happened to enter his confessional! Was it not the irony of Fate? The finger of Heaven, or the devil tracking me to my destruction?’ ‘But, Henry, the secrets of the confessional are sacred! I know so much! It was most unfortunate that you should have committed such an error as to confess your sin to _him_. But he cannot make any use of his knowledge. So far, you are safe!’ ‘But that is not the worst of it, Hannah! He recognised my voice and, as I was leaving the accursed place, he showed his face at the open door. It made me dread the worst. I thought he might find means to let others learn what he had, or perhaps reveal it altogether. You never know what these Roman Catholics may do. They have no honour!’ ‘Don’t blame others, Henry,’ interposed Hannah, gently, ‘whilst you are blameworthy yourself. Remember how deeply you have wronged this man. Yet, Mr Walcheren was always a gentleman and a man of honour, and I do not believe he would reveal a secret, however terrible, that had come to his knowledge through such a channel.’ ‘I wish I had thought the same. I wish I had consulted you before,’ groaned her husband, ‘but I feared the worst, and it weighed so on my mind that I determined to visit him privately, and learn what he intended to do. When I asked him, he said, as you do, that he was forbidden, under the most heavy penalties, to repeat anything that he might hear during his office as confessor. If I had only been content with that. But his manner made me feel secure, and I wanted to make myself look as little guilty as possible in his eyes, so I told him the story over again, and then--’ ‘Well, what then, Henry? Was there any harm in that?’ inquired Hannah. ‘I have d--d myself by it, that’s all!’ exclaimed Hindes, despairingly. ‘I had hardly finished when he told me that, although secrets told under the seal of confession were inviolate, we were not in a confessional at that moment, and it lay within his discretionary powers to make what use of my revelation he chose.’ ‘Oh! Henry, Henry!’ cried Hannah, ‘what have you done? What misery and disgrace have you not brought upon us all?’