It 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 doorknob. 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 the city. For months the advance orders for the coming
Mardi Gras festivals have kept the work going day and night. I myself
secured employment here for Norah. She toils here each night from
nine o'clock until daylight, and, besides, carries home with her some
of the finer costumes, requiring more delicate needlework, and works
there part of the day. Somehow, you two have remained strangely
ignorant of each other's lives. Are you convinced now that your wife
is not walking the streets?"
"Let me go to her," cried Lorison, again struggling, "and beg her
forgiveness!'
"Sir," said the priest, "do you owe me nothing? Be quiet.
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