is past the wisdom of him who only sets the scenes, either to praise or blame the man. But this time his love overcame his scruples. He took a quick step, and reached out his hand for the door knob. Father Rogan was quicker to arrest it, and draw him back.
“You use my trust in you queerly,” said the priest, sternly, “what are you about to do?”
“I am going to my wife,” said Lorison. “Let me pass.”
“Listen,” said the priest, holding him firmly by the arm. “I am about to put you in possession of a piece of knowledge of which, thus far, you have scarcely proved deserving. I do not think you ever will; but I will not dwell upon that. You see, in that room, the woman you married, working for a frugal living for herself, and a generous comfort for an idolized brother. This building belongs to the chief costumer of
