In leaving her husband’s house, Mrs. Lane had gone, as has been seen, to the house of a friend.  Mrs. Edmondson was an old school companion, between whom and herself had continued to exist, as they grew up, the tenderest relations.  When she turned from her husband, she fled, with an instinct of affection and sympathy, to this friend, and poured her tears in a gild agony of affliction upon her bosom.  In leaving her husband, she was not governed by a sudden caprice; nor was the act intended to humble him to her feet.  Nothing of this was in her mind.  He had trenched upon her province as a wife and mother; interfered with her freedom as an individual; and, at last, boldly assumed the right to command and control her as an inferior.  The native independence of her character, which had long fretted under this rule of subordination, now openly rebelled, and, panting for freedom, she had sprung from her fetters with few thoughts as to future consequences.

The first day of absence was a day of weeping.  Mrs. Edmondson could not and did not approve of what had been done.

“I am afraid, Amanda, that you have only made matters worse,” said she, as soon as she could venture to suggest any thing at all upon the subject.  “It is always easier to prevent than to heal a breach.  The day has not yet closed.  There is time to go back.  Your husband need never know what has been in your mind.  This hasty act may be entirely concealed from him.”

But the long suffering wife had been roused to opposition.  A new current of feeling was sweeping across and controlling her mind.  She was, therefore, deaf to the voice of reason.  Still her friend, as in duty bound, urged her to think more calmly on the subject, and to retrace the steps she had taken.  But all was in vain.  This being so, her husband, as has been seen, called upon Mr. Lane, and informed him that his wife was at his house.  From this interview Mr. Edmondson returned disheartened, and reported all that had been said on both sides to his wife.

“My husband saw Mr. Lane last evening,” said Mrs. Edmondson to Amanda on the next day.

“He did!” Amanda looked eagerly into the face of her friend, while she became much agitated.

“Yes.  He called to let him know that you were here.”

“What did he say?”

“He wishes you to return.  All will be forgotten and forgiven.”

“He said that?”

“Yes.”

“I have done nothing for which I desire forgiveness,” said Amanda, coldly, and with the air of one who is hurt by the words of another.  “If he will not have me return as his wife and equal, I can never go back.”

“For the sake of your child, Amanda, you should be willing to bear much.”

“My child shall not grow, up and see her mother degraded.”

“She is his child as well as yours.  Do not forget that,” said Mrs. Edmondson.  “And it is by no means certain that he will permit you to retain the possession of an object so dear to him.”