"Is it not true," said Agnes, "that if you were married, your chief difficulty would be removed, and that for the rest we would easily find a remedy!"
"Undoubtedly," said Renzo, "if we were married—The world is before us; and at a short distance from this, in Bergamo, a silk weaver is received with open arms. You know how often my cousin Bartolo has solicited me to go there, and enter into business with him; how many times he has told me that I should make a fortune, as he has done; and if I never listened to his request, it was—because my heart was here. Once married, we would all go together, and live happily far from the clutches of this villain, far from the temptation to do a rash deed. Is it not so, Lucy?"
"Yes," said Lucy, "but how"
"As I said," resumed Agnes, "courage and dexterity, and the thing is easy."
"Easy!" exclaimed they, in wonder.
"Easy," replied Agnes, "if you are prudent. Hear me patiently, and I will endeavour to make you comprehend my project. I have heard it said by persons who knew, and moreover I have seen one instance of it myself, that a curate's consent is not necessary to render a marriage ceremony lawful, provided you have his presence."
"How so?" asked Renzo.
"You shall hear. There must be two witnesses, nimble and cunning. You go to the curate; the point is to catch him unexpectedly, that he may have no time to escape. You say, 'Signor Curate, this is my wife;' Lucy says, 'Signor Curate, this is my husband;' you must speak so distinctly that the curate and the witnesses hear you, and the marriage is as inviolable as if the pope himself had celebrated it. When the words are once uttered, the curate may fret, and fume, and scold; it will be of no use, you are man and wife."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Lucy.
"Do you think," said Agnes, "that the thirty years I was in the world before you, I learned nothing? The thing is as I tell you."
The fact was truly such as Agnes represented it; mar-
