the high； dry barn； that smelled warm even if it were not warm。
He hung the lantern on the nail and shut the door。 They were in
another world now。 The light shed softly on the timbered barn；
on the whitewashed walls； and the great heap of hay； instruments
cast their shadows largely； a ladder rose to the dark arch of a
loft。 Outside there was the driving rain； inside； the
softly…illuminated stillness and calmness of the barn。
Holding the child on one arm； he set about preparing the food
for the cows； filling a pan with chopped hay and brewer's grains
and a little meal。 The child； all wonder； watched what he did。 A
new being was created in her for the new conditions。 Sometimes；
a little spasm； eddying from the bygone storm of sobbing； shook
her small body。 Her eyes were wide and wondering； pathetic。 She
was silent； quite still。
In a sort of dream； his heart sunk to the bottom； leaving the
surface of him still； quite still； he rose with the panful of
food； carefully balancing the child on one arm； the pan in the
other hand。 The silky fringe of the shawl swayed softly； grains
and hay trickled to the floor； he went along a dimly…lit passage
behind the mangers； where the horns of the cows pricked out of
the obscurity。 The child shrank； he balanced stiffly； rested the
pan on the manger wall； and tipped out the food； half to this
cow； half to the next。 There was a noise of chains running； as
the cows lifted or dropped their heads sharply； then a
contented； soothing sound； a long snuffing as the beasts ate in
silence。
The journey had to be performed several times。 There was the
rhythmic sound of the shovel in the barn； then the man returned
walking stiffly between the two weights； the face of the child
peering out from the shawl。 Then the next time； as he stooped；
she freed her arm and put it round his neck； clinging soft and
warm； making all easier。
The beasts fed； he dropped the pan and sat down on a box； to
arrange the child。
〃Will the cows go to sleep now？〃 she said； catching her
breath as she spoke。
〃Yes。〃
〃Will they eat all their stuff up first？〃
〃Yes。 Hark at them。〃
And the two sat still listening to the snuffing and breathing
of cows feeding in the sheds municating with this small barn。
The lantern shed a soft； steady light from one wall。 All outside
was still in the rain。 He looked down at the silky folds of the
paisley shawl。 It reminded him of his mother。 She used to go to
church in it。 He was back again in the old irresponsibility and
security； a boy at home。
The tind； in a sort of trance； seemed
to bee more and more vague。 He held the child close to him。 A
quivering little shudder； re…echoing from her sobbing； went down
her limbs。 He held her closer。 Gradually she relaxed； the
eyelids began to sink over her dark； watchful eyes。 As she sank
to sleep； his mind became blank。
When he came to； as if from sleep； he seemed to be sitting in
a timeless stillness。 What was he listening for？ He seemed to be
listening for some sound a long way off； from beyond life。 He
remembered his wife。 He must go back to her。 The child was
asleep； the eyelids not quite shut； showing a slight film of
black pupil between。 Why did she not shut her eyes？ Her mouth
was also a little open。
He rose quickly and went back to the house。
〃Is she asleep？〃 whispered Tilly。
He nodded。 The servant…woman came to look at the child who
slept in the shawl； with cheeks flushed hot and red； and a
whiteness； a wanness round the eyes。
〃God…a…mercy！〃 whispered Tilly； shaking her head。
He pushed off his boots and went upstairs with the child。 He
became aware of the anxiety grasped tight at his heart； because
of his wife。 But he remained still。 The house was silent save
for the wind outside； and the noisy trickling and splattering of
water in the water…butts。 There was a slit of light under his
wife's door。
He put the child into bed wrapped as she was in the shawl；
for the sheets would be cold。 Then he was afraid that she might
not be able to move her arms； so he loosened her。 The black eyes
opened； rested on him vacantly； sank shut again。 He covered her
up。 The last little quiver from the sobbing shook her
breathing。
This was his room； the room he had had before he married。 It
was familiar。 He remembered what it was to be a young man；
untouched。
He remained suspended。 The child slept； pushing her small
fists from the shawl。 He could tell the woman her child was
asleep。 But he must go to the other landing。 He started。 There
was the sound of the owls……the moaning of the woman。 What
an uncanny sound！ It was not human……at least to a man。
He went down to her room； entering softly。 She was lying
still； with eyes shut； pale； tired。 His heart leapt； fearing she
was dead。 Yet he knew perfectly well she was not。 He saw the way
her hair went loose over her temples； her mouth was shut with
suffering in a sort of grin。 She was beautiful to him……but
it was not human。 He had a dread of her as she lay there。 What
had she to do with him？ She was other than himself。
Something made him go and touch her fingers that were still
grasped on the sheet。 Her brown…grey eyes opened and looked at
him。 She did not know him as himself。 But she knew him as the
man。 She looked at him as a woman in childbirth looks at the man
who begot the child in her： an impersonal look； in the extreme
hour； female to male。 Her eyes closed again。 A great； scalding
peace went over him； burning his heart and his entrails； passing
off into the infinite。
When her pains began afresh； tearing her； he turned aside；
and could not look。 But his heart in torture was at peace； his
bowels were glad。 He went downstairs； and to the door； outside；
lifted his face to the rain； and felt the darkness striking
unseen and steadily upon him。
The swift； unseen threshing of the night upon him silenced
him and he was overe。 He turned away indoors； humbly。 There
was the infinite world； eternal； unchanging； as well as the
world of life。
CHAPTER III
CHILDHOOD OF ANNA LENSKY
Tom Brangwen never loved his own son as he loved his
stepchild Anna。 When they told him it was a boy； he had a thrill
of pleasure。 He liked the confirmation of fatherhood。 It gave
him satisfaction to know he had a son。 But he felt not very much
outgoing to the baby itself。 He was its father； that was
enough。
He was glad that his wife was mother of his child。 She was
serene； a little bit shadowy； as if she were transplanted。 In
the birth of the child she seemed to lose connection with her
former self。 She became now really English； really Mrs。
Brangwen。 Her vitality； however； seemed lowered。
She was still； to Brangwen； immeasurably beautiful。 She was
still passionate； with a flame of being。 But the flame was not
robust and present。 Her eyes shone； her face glowed for him； but
like some flower opened in the shade； that could not bear the
full light。 She loved the baby。 But even this； with a sort of
dimness； a faint absence about her； a shadowiness even in her
mother…love。 When Brangwen saw her nursing his child； happy；
absorbed in it； a pain went over him like a thin flame。 For he
perceived how he must subdue himself in his approach to her。 And
he wanted again the robust； moral exchange of love and passion
such as he had had at first with her； at one time and another；
when they were matched at their highest intensity。 This was the
one experience for him now。 And he wanted it； always； with
remorseless craving。
She came to him again； with the same lifting of her mouth as
had driven him almost mad with trammelled passion at first。 She
came to him again； and； his heart delirious in delight and
readiness； he took her。 And it was almost as before。
Perhaps it was quite as before。 At any rate； it made him know
perfection； it established in him a constant eternal
knowledge。
But it died down before he wanted it to die down。 She was
finished； she could take no more。 And he was not exhausted； he
wanted to go on。 But it could not be。
So he had to begin the bitter lesson； to abate himself； to
take less than he wanted。 For she was Woman to him； all other
women were her shadows。 For she had satisfied him。 And he wanted
it to go on。 And it could not。 However he raged； and； filled
with suppression that became hot and bitter； hated her in his
soul that she did not want him； however he had mad outbursts；
and drank and made ugly scenes； still he knew； he was only
kicking against the pricks。 It was not； he had to learn； that
she would not want him enough； as much as he demanded that she
should want him。 It was that she could not。 She could only want
him in her own way； and to her own measure。 And she had spent
much life before he found her as she was； the woman who could
take him and give him fulfilment。 She had taken him and given
him fulfilment。 She still could do so； in her own times and
ways。 But he must control himself； measure himself to her。
He wanted to give her all his love； all his passion； all his
essential energy。 But it could not be。 He must find other things
than her； other centres of living。 She sat close and impregnable
with the child。 And he was jealous of the chil