The next morning was the same, and by now Mr. Tebrick had been through all the agonies of wounded self-esteem, disillusionment and despair that a man can suffer.  But though his emotions rose up in his heart and nearly stifled him he showed no sign of them to her, neither did he abate one jot his tenderness and consideration for his vixen.  At breakfast he tempted her with a freshly killed young pullet.  It hurt him to make this advance to her, for hitherto he had kept her strictly on cooked meats, but the pain of seeing her refuse it was harder still for him to bear.  Added to this was now an anxiety lest she should starve herself to death rather than stay with him any longer.

All that morning he kept her close, but in the afternoon let her loose again in the garden after he had lopped the pear tree so that she could not repeat her performance of climbing.

But seeing how disgustedly she looked while he was by, never offering to run or to play as she was used, but only standing stock still with her tail between her legs, her ears flattened, and the hair bristling on her shoulders, seeing this he left her to herself out of mere humanity.

When he came out after half-an-hour he found that she was gone, but there was a fair sized hole by the wall, and she just buried all but her brush, digging desperately to get under the wall and make her escape.

He ran up to the hole, and put his arm in after her and called to her to come out, but she would not.  So at first he began pulling her out by the shoulder, then his hold slipping, by the hind legs.  As soon as he had drawn her forth she whipped round and snapped at his hand and bit it through near the joint of the thumb, but let it go instantly.  They stayed there for a minute facing each other, he on his knees and she facing him the picture of unrepentant wickedness and fury.  Being thus on his knees, Mr. Tebrick was down on her level very nearly, and her muzzle was thrust almost into his face.  Her ears lay flat on her head, her gums were bared in a silent snarl, and all her beautiful teeth threatening him that she would bite him again.  Her back too was half-arched, all her hair bristling and her brush held drooping.  But it was her eyes that held his, with their slit pupils looking at him with savage desperation and rage.

The blood ran very freely from his hand but he never noticed that or the pain of it either, for all his thoughts were for his wife.

“What is this, Silvia?” he said very quietly, “what is this?  Why are you so savage now?  If I stand between you and your freedom it is because I love you.  Is it such torment to be with me?” But Silvia never stirred a muscle.

“You would not do this if you were not in anguish, poor beast, you want your freedom.  I cannot keep you, I cannot hold you to vows made when you were a woman.  Why, you have forgotten who I am.”

The tears then began running down his cheeks, he sobbed, and said to her: