tion against him who had thus
thrust himself into her life and claimed to command it. At that moment,
after all the agitation he had made her suffer, and before the sacrifice
he thus demanded of her, she could scarcely believe that she too had
loved him, that she had been happy in his love. It seemed to her that
he had forced himself upon her, taken advantage of her loneliness,
compelled her to put herself in his power. It had been all adoration,
boundless devotion, help, and service. And now it was command. Oh, had
he but said this before! Had he bidden her then choose between her
child and him, before-- And as she looked at him a wild ridicule added
itself to these other thoughts. To see him standing making his speech,
thinking he could coerce like that a woman like herself, thinking in his
youthfulness that he could sway any woman's heart like that, and cut
off the ties that vexed him, and settle everything for the good of
both! Heaven! to see him lifting up his authoritative head, making his
decision, expecting her to obey! Spare yourself, and me! That she should
refuse did not enter into his mind. She might struggle for a time, but
to what use? Spare yourself, and me! She could not help a faint smile,
painful enough, bitter enough, curving her lips.

"You speak at your ease," she cried, when his voice stopped. "It is easy
to make up your mind for another. What if I should refuse--to obey, as
you say? A wife's obedience, since you appeal to that, is not like a
servant's obedience or a child's. It must be within reason and within
nature. Suppose that I should refuse."

He had grown cool and calm in the force of his authority. The crimson
flushed to his face and the fire to his eye at her words. "Refuse--and I
have my alternative!" he cried. "I will never enter your house again nor
interfere in your concerns more."

Again they contemplated each other in a deadly pause, like antagonists
before they close for the last struggle. Then Lady Markland spoke.

"Theo, I have done all that a woman could do to please you, and satisfy
you,--all, and more than all. I will not desert my little boy."

"You prefer Geoff to me?"

"There is no preferring; it is altogether different. I will not give up
my child."

"Then you give up your husband?"

They looked at each other again,--she deadly pale, he crimson with
passion, both quivering with the strain of this struggle; her eyes
mutely refusing to yield, accepting the alternati