Kathleen started, looked around her, as if with amazement, and without seeming to know exactly what she did, went towards the door, and was about to walk out, when Hanna, detaining her, asked with alarm--“Kathleen, what ails you, dear? Where are you going?” “Going,” she replied; “I was going to--where?--why?--what--what has happened?” “The news came upon her too much by surprise,” said Hanna, looking towards the priest. “Kathleen, darlin',” exclaimed her mother, “try and compose yourself. Lord guard us, what can ail her?” “Let her come with me into the parlor, mother, an' do you an' Father Magowan stay where you are.” They accordingly went in, and after about the space of ten minutes she recovered herself so far as to make Hanna repeat the intelligence which the simple-hearted priest had, with so little preparation, communicated. Having listened to it earnestly, she laid her head upon Hanna's bosom and indulged in a long fit of quiet and joyful grief. When she had recovered a little, Father Magowan entered at more length into the circumstances connected with the changes that had affected her lover's character so deeply, after which he wound up by giving expression to the following determination--a determination, by the way, which we earnestly recommend to all politicians of his profession. “As for my part,” said he, “it has opened my eyes to one thing that I won't forget:--a single word of politics I shall never suffer to be preached from the altar while I live; neither shall I allow denouncements for political offences. The altar, as the bishop told me--and a hard rap he gave Mr. M'Pepper across the knuckles for Bryan's affair--'the altar,' said he, 'isn't the place for politics, but for religion; an' I hope I may never hear of its being desecrated with politics again,' said his lordship, an' neither I will, I assure you.”