Miss Arnold seemed to feel some difficulty in proceeding to the next step of her narrative. 'At last,' said she, hesitating, 'it was agreed;—I consented to—to go with Glendower to Scotland.'
'To Scotland! Was not Lord Glendower his own master? Could he not marry where he pleased?'
'It was his wish,' said Miss Arnold, blushing and hesitating; 'and—and you know, Ellen, when a woman is attached—you know——'
'Don't appeal to my knowledge, Juliet, for I never was attached, and never shall be.'
A pause followed; and it was only at my request that Miss Arnold went on with her story. 'When we arrived here,' said she, 'I found Glendower's attentions were not what I expected. You may judge of my despair! I knew, though I was innocent, nobody would believe my innocence;—I saw that I was as much undone as if I had been really guilty.'
'Oh no, Juliet!' cried I, 'there is, indeed, only one step between imprudence and guilt; but that one is the passage from uneasiness to misery, abiding misery. But what did you resolve upon?'
'What could I do, Ellen? A little dexterity is the only means of defence which we poor women possess.'
'Any means of defence was lawful,' said I rashly, 'where all that is valuable in this world or the next was to be defended.'
'Certainly,' said Miss Arnold. 'Therefore, what I did cannot be blamed. I had heard something of the Scotch laws in regard to marriage; and I refused to see Glendower, unless he would at least persuade the people of the lodging-house that I was his wife. Afterwards, I contrived to make him send me a note, addressed to Lady Glendower. The note itself was of no consequence, but it answered the purpose, and I have preserved it. I took care, too, to ascertain that the people about us observed him address me as his wife; and in Scotland this is as good as a thousand ceremonies. Besides, you know, Ellen, a ceremony is nothing. Whatever joins people irrevocably, is a marriage in the sight of God and man.'