Desdemona still persisted that the handkerchief was not lost, and remembering her promise to Cassio, she most unwisely chose this ill-starred moment again to urge her suit. Her innocent good-nature was the final stroke to Othello’s jealous wrath, and harshly repeating, “The handkerchief! the handkerchief!” he strode away in ungovernable fury. Worked up to madness by the diabolical arts of Iago, he saw in his young wife’s apparent simplicity and candour nothing but the most clever deceit, and he determined to punish her supposed insincerity in the most terrible manner. No Way but This Though Othello had come to the terrible conclusion that Desdemona must die, he could not prevent his thoughts dwelling again and again on all the charm and loveliness of his dear young wife. This did not suit Iago’s purpose, for he was afraid lest Othello should relent before his revenge was accomplished. So he did his utmost in every way to incite Othello still more against Desdemona. He cunningly reminded him of Brabantio’s parting words, and said if Desdemona had deceived her father in concealing her affection for Othello, why should she not equally deceive her husband in concealing her affection for someone else? “She shall not live--no, my heart is turned to stone; I strike it, and it hurts my hand,” said Othello. Then, “O, the world hath not a sweeter creature!” “Nay, that’s not your way,” said Iago, ill-pleased. “I do but say what she is,” returned Othello. “So delicate with her needle; an admirable musician--O, she will sing the savageness out of a bear; of so high and plenteous wit and invention----” “She’s the worse for all this,” said Iago. “O, a thousand, thousand times,” agreed Othello; then he added wistfully: “And, then, of so gentle a condition!” “Ay, too gentle,” sneered Iago. “Nay, that’s certain;--but, yet, the pity of it, Iago! O, Iago, the pity of it, Iago!” But one might better have appealed for compassion to a tiger in sight of his prey. Iago knew nothing of pity. He had only one aim in view--to gratify his revenge. If Othello would kill Desdemona, he said, he would undertake Cassio. Emilia, Iago’s wife, was a sharp-tongued, outspoken woman, devoted to her young mistress, and when she saw how jealous and violent Othello was becoming, she did not scruple to tell him plainly that he was utterly wrong in his distrust. But Othello, urged on by Iago’s cunning, was now past all reason. By this time he was firmly convinced that Desdemona’s simple sweetness of manner was nothing but the most skilful hypocrisy, and that it was his duty to put her out of the world, so that she should betray no more people. When he spoke to his wife that day after his interview with Iago, his words were so strange and menacing that Desdemona was quite frightened. [Illustration: “Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?”] “Upon my knees, what doth your speech import?” she cried piteously. “I understand a fury in your words, but not the words.”