“It was Hannah Morrison! She reeled against me; and when I--such a fool as I was!--pitied her, because I was on my way home to you, and was thinking about you and loving you, and was so happy in it, and asked her how she came to that, she _struck_ me, and told me to--to--ask my--husband!” The transport broke in tears; the denunciation had turned to entreaty in everything but words; but Bartley had hardened his heart now past all entreaty. The idiotic penitent that he had been a few moments ago, the soft, well-meaning dolt, was so far from him now as to be scarce within the reach of his contempt. He was going to have this thing over once for all; he would have no mercy upon himself or upon her; the Devil was in him, and uppermost in him, and the Devil is fierce and proud, and knows how to make many base emotions feel like a just self-respect. “And did you believe a woman like that?” he sneered. “Do I believe a man like this?” she demanded, with a dying flash of her fury. “You--you don't dare to deny it.” “Oh, no, I don't deny it. For one reason, it would be of no use. For all practical purposes, I admit it. What then?” “What then?” she asked, bewildered. “Bartley; You don't mean it!” “Yes, I do. I mean it. I _don't_ deny it. What then? What are you going to do about it?” She gazed at him in incredulous horror. “Come! I mean what I say. What will you do?” “Oh, merciful God! what shall I do?” she prayed aloud. “That's just what I'm curious to know. When you leaped in here, just now, you must have meant to do something, if I couldn't convince you that the woman was lying. Well, you see that I don't try. I give you leave to believe whatever she said. What then?” “Bartley!” she besought him in her despair. “Do you drive me from you?” “Oh, no, certainly not. That isn't my way. You have driven me from you, and I might claim the right to retaliate, but I don't. I've no expectation that you'll go away, and I want to see what else you'll do. You would have me, before we were married; you were tolerably shameless in getting me; when your jealous temper made you throw me away, you couldn't live till you got me back again; you ran after me. Well, I suppose you've learnt wisdom, now. At least you won't try _that_ game again. But what _will_ you do?” He looked at her smiling, while he dealt her these stabs one by one. She set down the child, and went out to the entry where its hat and cloak hung. She had not taken off her own things, and now she began to put on the little one's garments with shaking hands, kneeling before it. “I will never live with you again, Bartley,” she said. “Very well. I doubt it, as far as you're concerned; but if you go away now, you certainly _won't_ live with me again, for I shall not let you come back. Understand that.” Each had most need of the other's mercy, but neither would have mercy.