The Brute

She buried her face in the pillows of the couch beside which she was kneeling, and lay thus for a long time, shaking with sobs. Into her mind had come a new emotion—a new understanding of her love for her husband. Always before he had failed to master her, to make her feel that in the conjunction of their two lives he was the dominant spirit, willing even to govern her by force, when force seemed necessary to her welfare. What had changed him so? What had caused him to keep her here, at his side, against her will? What, indeed, but his love for her? She knew it was that, knew that, had he been indifferent to her, he would have let her pass from his life without lifting a hand to prevent it. A fierce joy rose within her heart that this man desired her so greatly—that he held her, as the primitive man held his women, by the right of might.