"Indeed, sir," replied she, "he owes all his triumph to the desire I had of making him, and not myself, happy. I knew that the ceremony of our marriage, which was privately performed by a popish priest, was no way binding, and that I had nothing to trust to but his honour." "What!" interrupted I, "and were you indeed married by a priest, and in orders?" "Indeed, sir, we were," replied she, "though we were both sworn to conceal his name." "Why then, my child, come to my arms again; and now you are a thousand times more welcome than before; for you are his wife to all intents and purposes; nor can all the laws of man, though written upon tables of adamant, lessen the force of that sacred connexion." "Alas! papa," replied she, "you are but little acquainted with his villainies; he has been married already, by the same priest, to six or eight wives more, whom, like me, he has deceived and abandoned." "Has he so?" cried I, "then we must hang the priest, and you shall inform against him to-morrow." "But, sir," returned she, "will that be right, when I am sworn to secresy?" "My dear," I replied, "if you have made such a promise, I cannot, nor will I tempt you to break it. Even though it may benefit the public, you must not inform against him. In all human institutions, a smaller evil is allowed to procure a greater good: as, in politics, a province may be given away to secure a kingdom; in medicine, a limb may be lopped off to preserve the body. But in religion the law is written and inflexible, _never_ to do evil. And, this law, my child, is right; for otherwise, if we commit a smaller evil to procure a greater good, certain guilt would be thus incurred in expectation of contingent advantage. And though the advantage should certainly follow, yet the interval between commission and advantage, which is allowed to be guilty, may be that in which we are called away to answer for the things we have done, and the volume of human actions is closed for ever. But I interrupt you, my dear: go on."