shut to the
crimes that's bein' committed ag'in uz for want of an outcry against 'em
by you preachers an' prayers an' thract-disthributors." The speaker
ceased and nodded fiercely. Then a new thought occurred to him, and he
began again abruptly:--

"Look ut here! Ye said in yer serrmon that as to Him"--he pointed
through the broken ceiling--"we're all criminals alike, didn't ye?"

"I did," responded the preacher, in a low tone.

"Yes," said Ristofalo; and the boy echoed the same word.

"Well, thin, what rights has some to be out an' some to be in?"

"Only one right that I know of," responded the little man; "still that
is a good one."

"And that is--?" prompted the Irishman.

"Society's right to protect itself."

"Yes," said the prisoner, "to protect itself. Thin what right has it to
keep a prison like this, where every man an' woman as goes out of ud
goes out a blacker devil, and cunninger devil, and a more dangerous
devil, nor when he came in? Is that anny protection? Why shouldn't such
a prison tumble down upon the heads of thim as built it? Say."

"I expect you'll have to ask somebody else," said the rector. He rose.

"Ye're not a-goun'!" exclaimed the Irishman, in broad affectation of
surprise.

"Yes."

"Ah! come, now! Ye're not goun' to be beat that a-way by a wild Mick o'
the woods?" He held himself ready for a laugh.

"No, I'm coming back," said the smiling clergyman, and the laugh came.

"That's right! But"--as if the thought was a sudden one--"I'll be dead
by thin, willn't I? Of coorse I will."

"Yes?" rejoined the clergyman. "How's that?"

The Irishman turned to the Italian.

"Mr. Ristofalo, we're a-goin to the pinitintiary, aint we?"

Ristofalo nodded.

"Of coorse we air! Ah! Mr. Preechur, that's the place!"

"Worse than this?"

"Worse? Oh, no! It's better. This is slow death, but that's quick and
short--and sure. If it don't git ye in five year', ye're an allygatur.
This place? It's heaven to ud!"

CHAPTER XLIII.

SHALL SHE COME OR STAY?

Richling read Mary's letter through three times without a smile. The
feeling that he had prompted the missive--that it was partly his--stood
between him and a tumult of gladness. And yet when he closed his eyes he
could see Mary, all buoyancy and laughter, spurning his claim to each
and every stroke of the pen. It was all hers, all!

As he was slowly folding the sheet Mrs. Reisen came in upon him. It was
one of those excessively war