The particulars of this rupture we need not give; it arose in a dispute about the child when she was two years old.  As usual, Lane had attempted to set aside the judgment of his wife in something pertaining to the child, as inferior to his own, and she had not submitted.  Warm words ensued, in which he said a good deal about a wife’s knowing her place and keeping it.

“I am not your slave!” said Amanda, indignantly; the cutting words of her husband throwing her off her guard.

“You are my wife,” he calmly and half contemptuously replied; “and, as such, are bound to submit yourself to your husband.”

“To my husband’s intelligence, not to his mere will,” answered Amanda, less warmly, but more resolutely than at first.

“Yes, to his will!” said Lane, growing blind from anger.

“That I have done long enough,” returned the wife.  “But the time is past now.  By your intelligence, when I see in it superior light to what exists in my own, I will be guided, but, by your will—­never!”

The onward moving current of years, which, for some time, had been chafing amid obstructions, now met a sudden barrier, and flowed over in a raging torrent.  A sharp retort met this firm declaration of Amanda, stinging her into anger, and producing a state of recrimination.  While in this state, she spoke plainly of his assumption of authority over her from the first,—­of her passiveness for a time,—­of being finally aroused to opposition.

“And now,” she added, in conclusion, “I am content to be your wife and equal, but will be no longer your passive and obedient slave.”

“Your duty is to obey.  You can occupy no other position as my wife,” returned the blind and excited husband.

“Then we must part.”

“Be it so.”  And as he said this, Lane turned hurriedly away and left the house.

Fixed as a statue, for a long time, sat the stunned and wretched wife.  As the current of thoughts again flowed on, and the words of her husband presented themselves in even a more offensive light than when they were first uttered, indignant pride took the uppermost place in her mind.

“He will not treat me as a wife and equal,” she said, “and I will no longer be his slave.”

In anger Lane turned from his wife; and for hours after parting with her this anger burned with an all-consuming flame.  For him to yield was out of the question.  His manly pride would never consent to this.  She must fall back into her true position.  He did not return home, as usual, at dinner-time; but absented himself, in order to give her time for reflection, as well as to awaken her fears lest he would abandon her altogether.  Towards night, imagining his wife in a state of penitence and distressing anxiety, and feeling some commiseration for her on that account, Mr. Lane went back to his dwelling.  As he stepped within the door, a feeling of desertion and loneliness came over him; and unusual silence seemed to pervade the house.  He sat down in the parlour for some minutes; but hearing no movement in the chamber above, nor catching even a murmur of his child’s voice, a sound for which his ears were longing, he ascended the stairs, but found no one there.  As he turned to go down again he met a servant.