Chapter 45

truth. Truth upon some occasions is the most offensive thing that can be spoken: the lady was enraged, and, after saying every thing provoking that matrimonial spleen could suggest, when he in his turn grew warm, she cooled, and said, "You must be sensible, my dear, that all I say and do arises from affection."

"Oh! my love," said he, recovering his good-humour, "this never-failing opiate soothes my vanity, and lulls my anger; then you may govern me as you please. Torment me to death,--I cannot oppose you."

"I suppose," said she, "you think me like the vampire-bat, who fans his victim to sleep with its wings, whilst she sucks its life-blood."

"Yes, exactly," said he, smiling: "thank you for the apt allusion."

"Very apt, indeed," said she; and a thick gloom overspread her countenance. She persisted in taking his assent in sober earnest. "Yes," said she, "I find you think all my kindness is treacherous. I will show you no more, and then you cannot accuse me of treachery."

It was in vain that he protested he had been only in jest; she was convinced that he was in earnest; she was suddenly afflicted with an absolute incapacity of distinguishing jest from earnest. She recurred to the idea of the vampire-bat, whenever it was convenient to her to suppose that her husband thought strange things of her, which never entered his brain. This bat proved to him a bird of ill omen, which preceded a train of misfortunes, that no mortal foresight could reach, and no human prudence avert. His goddess was not to be appeased by any propitiatory or expiatory sacrifice.