day life with you. I want a woman—just an ordinary woman—whom I can be free to chide and coax and pet and scold."
Oh, tear open my heart and see! What am I else but that,—just an ordinary woman? I am the same girl that I was when I was newly wed,—a girl with all her need to believe, to confide, to worship.
I do not recollect exactly the words that I uttered. I only remember that I said: "If I be a true wife, then, may God be my witness, you shall never do this wicked deed, you shall never break your oath. Before you commit such sacrilege, either I shall become a widow, or Hemangini shall die."
Then I fell down on the floor in a swoon. When I came to myself, it was still dark. The birds were silent. My husband had gone.
All that day I sat at my worship in the sanctuary at the household shrine. In the evening a fierce storm, with thunder and lightning and rain, swept down upon the house and shook it. As I crouched before the shrine, I did not ask my God to save my husband from the storm, though he must have been at that time in peril on the river. I prayed that whatever might happen to me, my husband might be saved from this great sin.
