For ever!  The words are rarely uttered without leaving on the mind a shade of thought.  For ever!  They brought more than a simple shadow to the mind of Irene.  A sudden darkness fell upon her soul, and for a little while she groped about like one who had lost her way.  But her husband’s threat of consequences, his cold, imperious manner, his assumed superiority, all acted as sharp spurs to pride, and she stood up, strong again, in full mental stature, with every power of her being in full force for action and endurance.

“I go.”  There was no sign of weakness in her voice.  She had raised her eyes from the floor and turned them full upon her husband.  Her face was not so pale as it had been a little while before.  Warmth had come back to the delicate skin, flushing it with beauty.  She did not stand before him an impersonation of anger, dislike or rebellion.  There was not a repulsive attitude or expression; no flashing of the eyes, nor even the cold, diamond glitter seen a little while before.  Slowly turning away, she left the room; but, to her husband, she seemed still standing there, a lovely vision.  There had fallen, in that instant of time, a sunbeam which fixed the image upon his memory in imperishable colors.  What though he parted company here with the vital form, that effigy would be, through all time, his inseparable companion!

“Gone!” Hartley Emerson held his breath as the word came into mental utterance.  There was a motion of regret in his heart; a wish that he had not spoken quite so sternly—­that he had kept back a part of the hard saying.  But it was too late now.  He could not, after all that had just passed between them—­after she had refused to answer his questions touching Major Willard—­make any concessions.  Come what would, there was to be no retracing of steps now.

“And it may be as well,” said he, rallying himself, “that we part here.  Our experiment has proved a sad failure.  We grow colder and more repellant each day, instead of drawing closer together and becoming more lovingly assimilated.  It is not good—­this life—­for either of us.  We struggle in our bonds and hurt each other.  Better apart! better apart!  Moreover”—­his face darkened—­“she has fallen into dangerous companionship, and will not be advised or governed.  I have heard her name fall lightly from lips that cannot utter a woman’s name without leaving it soiled.  She is pure now—­pure as snow.  I have not a shadow of suspicion, though I pressed her close.  But this contact is bad; she is breathing an impure atmosphere; she is assorting with some who are sensual and evil-minded, though she will not believe the truth.  Mrs. Lloyd!  Gracious heavens!  My wife the intimate companion of that woman!  Seen with her in Broadway!  A constant visitor at my house!  This, and I knew it not!”

Emerson grew deeply agitated as he rehearsed these things.  It was after midnight when he retired.  He did not go to his wife’s apartment, but passed to a room in the story above that in which he usually slept.