'Thou hast said enough; thy conscience shall not have the additional burthen to bear, of having deprived a poor girl of her maintenance—I will take her.'
'A thousand thanks to you,' replied Adeline: 'you have removed a weight off my mind; but my conscience, has none to bear.'
'No?' returned Mrs Pemberton: 'dost thou deem thy conduct blameless in the eyes of that Being whom thou hast just blessed?'
'As far as my connexion with Mr Glenmurray is concerned, I do.'
'Indeed?'
'Nay, doubt me not—believe me that I never wantonly violate the truth; and that even an evasion, which I, for the first time in my life, was guilty of to-day, has given me a pang to which I will not again expose myself.'
'And yet, inconsistent beings as we are,' cried Mrs Pemberton, 'straining at a gnat, and swallowing a camel, what is the guilt of the evasion which weighs on thy mind, compared to that of living, as thou dost, in an illicit commerce? Surely, surely, thine heart accuses thee; for thy face bespeaks uneasiness, and thou wilt listen to the whispers of penitence, and leave, ere long, the man who has betrayed thee.'
'The man who has betrayed me! Mr Glenmurray is no betrayer—he is one of the best of human beings. No, madam: if I had acceded to his wishes, I should long ago have been his wife, but, from a conviction of the folly of marriage, I have preferred living with him without the performance of a ceremony which, in the eye of reason, can confer neither honour nor happiness.'
'Poor thing!' exclaimed Mrs Pemberton, rising as she spoke, 'I understand thee now—Thou art one of the enlightened, as they call themselves—Thou art one of those wise in their own conceit, who, disregarding the customs of ages, and the dictates of experience, set up their own opinions against the hallowed institutions of men and the will of the Most High.'
'Can you blame me,' interrupted Adeline, 'for acting according to what I think right?'