"The brow of my husband instantly flushed. He was silent for a
moment or two. Then he said, with forced calmness, yet in a
resolute, meaning tone--

"'Jane, I do not wish you to keep company with Mrs. Corbin.'

"'I WILL!' was my indignant reply.

"His face grew deadly pale. For a moment his whole frame trembled as
if some fearful struggle were going on within. Then he quietly
arose, and, without looking at me, left the room. Oh! how deeply did
I regret uttering those unhappy words the instant they were spoken!
But repentance came too late. For about the space of ten minutes,
pride struggled with affection and duty. At the end of that time the
latter triumphed, and I hastened after my husband to ask his
forgiveness for what I said. But he was not in the parlours. He was
not in the house! I asked a servant if she had seen him, and
received for reply that he had gone out.

"Anxiously passed the hours until nightfall. The sad twilight, as it
gathered dimly around, threw a deeper gloom over my heart. My
husband usually came home before dark. Now he was away beyond his
accustomed hour. Instead of returning gladly to meet his young wife,
he was staying away, because that young wife had thrown off the
attractions of love and presented to him features harsh and
repulsive. How anxiously I longed to hear the sound of his
footsteps--to see his face--to hear his voice! The moment of his
entrance I resolved should be the moment of my humble confession of
wrong--of my faithful promise never again to set up my will