One of her darker moods had come upon Irene, and she was beating about in the blind obscurity of passion. As she began to give utterance to complaining thoughts, new thoughts formed themselves, and what was only vague feelings grew into ideas of wrong; and these, when once spoken, assumed a magnitude unimagined before. In vain did her friend strive with her. Argument, remonstrance, persuasion, only seemed to bring greater obscurity and to excite a more bitter feeling in her mind. And so, despairing of any good result, Rose withdrew, and left her with her own unhappy thoughts. Not long after Miss Carman retired, Emerson came in. At the sound of his approaching footsteps, Irene had, with a strong effort, composed herself and swept back the deeper shadows from her face. "Not ready yet?" he said, in a pleasant, half-chiding way. "The carriages will be at the door in ten minutes." "I am not going to ride out," returned Irene, in a quiet, seemingly indifferent tone of voice. Hartley mistook her manner for sport, and answered pleasantly-- "Oh yes you are, my little lady." "No, I am not." There was no misapprehension now. "Not going to ride out?" Hartley's brows contracted. "No; I am not going to ride out to-day." Each word was distinctly spoken. "I don't understand you, Irene." "Are not my words plain enough?" "Yes, they are too plain--so plain as to make them involve a mystery. What do you mean by this sudden change of purpose?" "I don't wish to ride out," said Irene, with assumed calmness of manner; "and that being so, may I not have my will in the case?" "No--" A red spot burned on Irene's cheeks and her eyes flashed. "No," repeated her husband; "not after you have given up that will to another." "To you!" Irene started to her feet in instant passion. "And so I am to be nobody, and you the lord and master. My will is to be nothing, and yours the law of my life." Her lip curled in contemptuous anger.