to get tired。 After a certain point； she became impassive；
detached utterly from him。 He was always ready to burst out
murderously against her。 Her soul got up and left him； she went
her way。 Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness； that made his
soul black with opposition； she trembled as if she bled。
And ever and again； the pure love came in sunbeams between
them； when she was like a flower in the sun to him； so
beautiful； so shining； so intensely dear that he could scarcely
bear it。 Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood
absorbed in praise； feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat
through him like a pulse； as he stood in the upright flame of
praise； transmitting the pulse of Creation。
And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of
power。 Sometimes； when he stood in the doorway； his face lit up；
he seemed like an Annunciation to her； her heart beat fast。 And
she watched him； suspended。 He had a dark； burning being that
she dreaded and resisted。 She was subject to him as to the Angel
of the Presence。 She waited upon him and heard his will； and she
trembled in his service。
Then all this passed away。 Then he loved her for her
childishness and for her strangeness to him； for the wonder of
her soul which was different from his soul； and which made him
genuine when he would be false。 And she loved him for the way he
sat loosely in a chair； or for the way he came through a door
with his face open and eager。 She loved his ringing； eager
voice； and the touch of the unknown about him； his absolute
simplicity。
Yet neither of them was quite satisfied。 He felt； somewhere；
that she did not respect him。 She only respected him as far as
he was related to herself。 For what he was； beyond her； she had
no care。 She did not care for what he represented in himself。 It
is true； he did not know himself what he represented。 But
whatever it was she did not really honour it。 She did no service
to his work as a lace…designer； nor to himself as bread…winner。
Because he went down to the office and worked every
day……that entitled him to no respect or regard from her； he
knew。 Rather she despised him for it。 And he almost loved her
for this； though at first it maddened him like an insult。
What was much deeper； she soon came to bat his deepest
feelings。 What he thought about life and about society and
mankind did not matter very much to her： he was right enough to
be insignificant。 This was again galling to him。 She would judge
beyond him on these things。 But at length he came to accept her
judgments； discovering them as if they were his own。 It was not
here the deep trouble lay。 The deep root of his enmity lay in
the fact that she jeered at his soul。 He was inarticulate and
stupid in thought。 But to some things he clung passionately。 He
loved the Church。 If she tried to get out of him； what he
believed； then they were both soon in a white rage。
Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana？ She would
drive him to the thing as a historical fact： so much
rain…water…look at it……can it bee grape…juice； wine？ For
an instant； he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no；
his clear mind； answering her for a moment； rejected the idea。
And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad； inchoate
hatred against this violation of himself。 It was true for him。
His mind was extinguished again at once； his blood was up。 In
his blood and bones； he wanted the scene； the wedding； the water
brought forward from the firkins as red wine： and Christ saying
to His mother： 〃Woman； what have I to do with thee？……mine
hour is not yet e。〃
And then：
〃His mother saith unto the servants； 'Whatsoever he saith
unto you； do it。'〃
Brangwen loved it； with his bones and blood he loved it； he
could not let it go。 Yet she forced him to let it go。 She hated
his blind attachments。
Water； natural water； could it suddenly and unnaturally turn
into wine； depart from its being and at haphazard take on
another being？ Ah no； he knew it was wrong。
She became again the palpitating； hostile child； hateful；
putting things to destruction。 He became mute and dead。 His own
being gave him the lie。 He knew it was so： wine was wine； water
was water； for ever： the water had not bee wine。 The miracle
was not a real fact。 She seemed to be destroying him。 He went
out； dark and destroyed； his soul running its blood。 And he
tasted of death。 Because his life was formed in these
unquestioned concepts。
She； desolate again as she had been when she was a child；
went away and sobbed。 She did not care； she did not care whether
the water had turned to wine or not。 Let him believe it if he
wanted to。 But she knew she had won。 And an ashy desolation came
over her。
They were ashenly miserable for some time。 Then the life
began to e back。 He was nothing if not dogged。 He thought
again of the chapter of St。 John。 There was a great biting pang。
〃But thou hast kept the good wine until now。〃 〃The best wine！〃
The young man's heart responded in a craving； in a triumph；
although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him
like a weasel in his heart。 Which was stronger； the pain of the
denial； or the desire for affirmation？ He was stubborn in
spirit； and abode by his desire。 But he would not any more
affirm the miracles as true。
Very well； it was not true； the water had not turned into
wine。 The water had not turned into wine。 But for all that he
would live in his soul as if the water had turned into
wine。 For truth of fact； it had not。 But for his soul； it
had。
〃Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't；〃 he said；
〃it doesn't bother me。 I take it for what it is。〃
〃And what is it？〃 she asked； quickly； hopefully。
〃It's the Bible；〃 he said。
That answer enraged her； and she despised him。 She did not
actively question the Bible herself。 But he drove her to
contempt。
And yet he did not care about the Bible； the written letter。
Although he could not satisfy her； yet she knew of herself that
he had something real。 He was not a dogmatist。 He did not
believe in fact that the water turned into wine。 He did
not want to make a fact out of it。 Indeed； his attitude was
without criticism。 It was purely individual。 He took that which
was of value to him from the Written Word； he added to his
spirit。 His mind he let sleep。
And she was bitter against him； that he let his mind sleep。
That which was human； belonged to mankind； he would not exert。
He cared only for himself。 He was no Christian。 Above all；
Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man。
She； almost against herself； clung to the worship of the
human knowledge。 Man must die in the body； but in his knowledge
he was immortal。 Such； somewhere； was her belief； quite obscure
and unformulated。 She believed in the omnipotence of the human
mind。
He； on the other hand； blind as a subterranean thing； just
ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark…souled
desires； following his own tunnelling nose。 She felt often she
must suffocate。 And she fought him off。
Then he； knowing he was blind； fought madly back again；
frantic in sensual fear。 He did foolish things。 He asserted
himself on his rights； he arrogated the old position of master
of the house。
〃You've a right to do as I want；〃 he cried。
〃Fool！〃 she answered。 〃Fool！〃
〃I'll let you know who's master；〃 he cried。
〃Fool！〃 she answered。 〃Fool！ I've known my own father； who
could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his
finger…end。 Don't I know what a fool you are！〃
He knew himself what a fool he was； and was flayed by the
knowledge。 Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual
life。 He asserted his position as the captain of the ship。 And
captain and ship bored her。 He wanted to loom important as
master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the
great fleet of society。 It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of
tubs jostling in futility。 She felt no belief in it。 She jeered
at him as master of the house； master of their dual life。 And he
was black with shame and rage。 He knew； with shame； how her
father had been a man without arrogating any authority。
He had gone on the wrong tack； and he felt it hard to give up
the expedition。 There was great surging and shame。 Then he
yielded。 He had given up the master…of…the…house idea。
There was something he wanted； nevertheless； some form of
mastery。 Ever and anon； after his collapses into the petty and
the shameful； he rose up again； and； stubborn in spirit； strong
in his power to start afresh； set out once more in his male
pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit。
It began well； but it ended always in war between them； till
they were both driven almost to madness。 He said； she did not
respect him。 She laughed in hollow scorn of this。 For her it was
enough that she loved him。
〃Respect what？〃 she asked。
But he always answered the wrong thing。 And though she
cudgelled her brains； she could not e at it。
〃Why don't you go on with your wood…carving？〃 she said。 〃Why
don't you finish your Adam and Eve？〃
But she did not care for the Adam and Eve； and he never put
another stroke to it。 She jeered