black hallway, he dashed down it, perceiving no light or sound. But he raised his voice, hailing loudly; reckless of everything but that he should find the old mischief-maker with the eyes that looked too far away to see the disaster he had wrought. The door opened, and in the stream of light Father Rogan stood, his book in hand, with his finger marking the place.
“Ah! cried Lorison. “You are the man I want. I had a wife of you a few hours ago. I would not trouble you, but I neglected to note how it was done. Will you oblige me with the information whether the business is beyond remedy?”
“Come inside,” said the priest; “there are other lodgers in the house, who might prefer sleep to even a gratified curiosity.”
Lorison entered the room and took the chair offered him. The priest’s eyes looked a courteous interrogation.
“I must apologize again,” said the young man, “for so soon intruding upon you with my marital infelicities, but, as my wife has neglected to furnish me with her address, I am deprived of the legitimate recourse of a family row.”
“I am quite a plain man,” said Father Rogan, pleasantly; “but I do not see how I am to ask you questions.”
“Pardon my indirectness,” said Lorison; “I will ask one. In this room to-night you pronounced me to be a husband. You afterward spoke of additional rites or performances that either should or could be effected. I paid little attention to your words then, but I am hungry
