ther, while she kept it, it would make her amiable, and my father
would love her; but, if she lost it, or gave it away, my father's fancy
would turn, and he would loathe her as much as he had loved her. She
dying gave it to me, and bade me, if I ever married, to give it to my
wife. I did so; take heed of it. Make it a darling as precious as your
eye." "Is it possible?" said the frighted lady. "'Tis true," continued
Othello; "it is a magical handkerchief; a sibyl that had lived in the
world two hundred years, in a fit of prophetic fury worked it; the
silkworms that furnished the silk were hallowed, and it was dyed in a
mummy of maidens' hearts conserved." Desdemona, hearing the wondrous
virtues of the handkerchief, was ready to die with fear, for she plainly
perceived she had lost it, and with it, she feared, the affections of
her husband. Then Othello started, and looked as if he were going to do
some rash thing, and still he demanded the handkerchief, which when she
could not produce, she tried to divert her husband from too serious
thoughts, and cheerfully told him she saw all his talk about the
handkerchief was only to put her off from her suit about Michael Cassio,
whom she went on to praise (as Iago had foretold), till Othello in
perfect distraction burst out of the room, and then Desdemona, though
unwillingly, began to suspect that her lord was jealous.

What cause she could have ministered to him she knew not, and then she
accused herself for accusing the noble Othello, and thought to be sure
that some untoward news from Venice, or some state troubles had puddled
his spirits, and made his temper not so sweet as formerly. And she said,
"Men are not gods, and we must not look for that observance from them
when they are married, which they show us on the bridal day." And she
beshrewed herself for so unkindly judging of his unkindness.

Again Othello and Desdemona met, and he accused her more plainly of
being unfaithful, and of loving another man, but he did not name whom:
and Othello wept, and Desdemona said, "Alas! the heavy day! why do you
weep?" And Othello told her, he could have borne all sorts of evils with
fortitude--poverty, and disease, and disgrace; but her infidelity had
broken his heart: and he called her a weed, that looked so fair, and
smelled so sweet, that the sense ached at it; and wished she had never
been born. And when he had left her, this innocent lady was so stupefied
with wonder at her lord's