The words were few and simple, but the manner with which they were uttered was ineffable:  the scales fell from my eyes, and I felt that I had no right to try and induce her to infringe one of the most inviolable customs of her country, as she needs must do if she were to marry me.  I sat for a long while thinking, and when I remembered the sin and shame and misery which an unrighteous marriage—­for as such it would be held in Erewhon—­would entail, I became thoroughly ashamed of myself for having been so long self-blinded.  I write coldly now, but I suffered keenly at the time, and should probably retain a much more vivid recollection of what I felt, had not all ended so happily.

As for giving up the idea of marrying Arowhena, it never so much as entered my head to do so:  the solution must be found in some other direction than this.  The idea of waiting till somebody married Zulora was to be no less summarily dismissed.  To marry Arowhena at once in Erewhon—­this had already been abandoned:  there remained therefore but one alternative, and that was to run away with her, and get her with me to Europe, where there would be no bar to our union save my own impecuniosity, a matter which gave me no uneasiness.

To this obvious and simple plan I could see but two objections that deserved the name,—­the first, that perhaps Arowhena would not come; the second, that it was almost impossible for me to escape even alone, for the king had himself told me that I was to consider myself a prisoner on parole, and that the first sign of my endeavouring to escape would cause me to be sent to one of the hospitals for incurables.  Besides, I did not know the geography of the country, and even were I to try and find my way back, I should be discovered long before I had reached the pass over which I had come.  How then could I hope to be able to take Arowhena with me?  For days and days I turned these difficulties over in my mind, and at last hit upon as wild a plan as was ever suggested by extremity.  This was to meet the second difficulty:  the first gave me less uneasiness, for when Arowhena and I next met after our interview in the garden I could see that she had suffered not less acutely than myself.

I resolved that I would have another interview with her—­the last for the present—­that I would then leave her, and set to work upon maturing my plan as fast as possible.  We got a chance of being alone together, and then I gave myself the loose rein, and told her how passionately and devotedly I loved her.  She said little in return, but her tears (which I could not refrain from answering with my own) and the little she did say were quite enough to show me that I should meet with no obstacle from her.  Then I asked her whether she would run a terrible risk which we should share in common, if, in case of success, I could take her to my own people, to the home of my mother and sisters, who would welcome her very gladly.  At the same time I pointed out that the chances of failure were far greater than those of success, and that the probability was that even though I could get so far as to carry my design into execution, it would end in death to us both.