never slept in contrivance
of villany, had made his wife (a good, but a weak woman) steal this
handkerchief from Desdemona, under presence of getting the work copied,
but in reality to drop it in Cassio's way, where he might find it, and
give a handle to Iago's suggestion that it was Desdemona's present.

Othello, soon after meeting his wife, pretended that he had a headache
(as he might indeed with truth), and desired her to lend him her
handkerchief to hold to his temples. She did so. 'Not this,' said
Othello, 'but that handkerchief I gave you.' Desdemona had it not about
her (for indeed it was stolen, as we have related). 'How?' said
Othello, 'this is a fault indeed. That handkerchief an Egyptian woman
gave to my mother; the woman was a witch and could read people's
thoughts: she told my mother, while she kept it, it would make her
amiable, and my father would love her; but, if she lost it, or gave it
away, my father's fancy would turn, and he would loathe her as much as
he had loved her. She dying gave it to me, and bade me, if I ever
married, to give it to my wife. I did so; take heed of it. Make it a
darling as precious as your eye.' 'It is possible?' said the frighted
lady. 'Tis true,' continued Othello 'it is a magical handkerchief; a
sibyl that had lived in the world two hundred years, in a fit of
prophetic fury worked it; the silkworms that furnished the silk were
hallowed, and it was dyed in a mummy of maidens' hearts conserved.'
Desdemona, hearing the wondrous virtues of the handkerchief, was ready
to die with fear, for she plainly perceived she had lost it, and with
it, she feared, the affections of her husband. Then Othello started,
and looked as if he were going to do some rash thing, and still he
demanded the handkerchief, which when she could not produce, she tried
to divert her husband from too serious thoughts, and cheerfully told
him she saw all his talk about the handkerchief was only to put her off
from her suit about Michael Cassio, whom she went on to praise (as Iago
had foretold), till Othello in perfect distraction burst out of the
room, and then Desdemona, though unwillingly, began to suspect that her
lord was jealous.

What cause she could have ministered to him she knew not, and then she
accused herself for accusing the noble Othello, and thought to be sure
that some untoward news from Venice, or some state troubles had puddled
his spirits, and made his temper not so sweet as formerly. And