material prosperity of everybody else！ What he considered an
unimportant thing for himself he could not think worthy of every
sacrifice on behalf of other people。 And that which he would
consider of the deepest importance to himself as an
individual……oh； he said； you mustn't consider the munity
from that standpoint。 No……no……we know what the
munity wants； it wants something solid； it wants good wages；
equal opportunities； good conditions of living； that's what the
munity wants。 It doesn't want anything subtle or difficult。
Duty is very plain…keep in mind the material； the immediate
welfare of every man； that's all。
So there came over Skrebensky a sort of nullity； which more
and more terrified Ursula。 She felt there was something hopeless
which she had to submit to。 She felt a great sense of disaster
impending。 Day after day was made inert with a sense of
disaster。 She became morbidly sensitive； depressed；
apprehensive。 It was anguish to her when she saw one rook slowly
flapping in the sky。 That was a sign of ill…omen。 And the
foreboding became so black and so powerful in her； that she was
almost extinguished。
Yet what was the matter？ At the worst he was only going away。
Why did she mind； what was it she feared？ She did not know。 Only
she had a black dread possessing her。 When she went at night and
saw the big； flashing stars they seemed terrible； by day she was
always expecting some charge to be made against her。
He wrote in March to say that he was going to South Africa in
a short time； but before he went； he would snatch a day at the
Marsh。
As if in a painful dream； she waited suspended； unresolved。
She did not know； she could not understand。 Only she felt that
all the threads of her fate were being held taut； in suspense。
She only wept sometimes as she went about； saying blindly：
〃I am so fond of him； I am so fond of him。〃
He came。 But why did he e？ She looked at him for a sign。
He gave no sign。 He did not even kiss her。 He behaved as if he
were an affable； usual acquaintance。 This was superficial； but
what did it hide？ She waited for him； she wanted him to make
some sign。
So the whole of the day they wavered and avoided contact；
until evening。 Then； laughing； saying he would be back in six
months' time and would tell them all about it； he shook hands
with her mother and took his leave。
Ursula acpanied him into the lane。 The night was windy；
the yew trees seethed and hissed and vibrated。 The wind seemed
to rush about among the chimneys and the church…tower。 It was
dark。
The wind blew Ursula's face； and her clothes cleaved to her
limbs。 But it was a surging； turgid wind； instinct with
pressed vigour of life。 And she seemed to have lost
Skrebensky。 Out there in the strong； urgent night she could not
find him。
〃Where are you？〃 she asked。
〃Here；〃 came his bodiless voice。
And groping； she touched him。 A fire like lightning drenched
them。
〃Anton？〃 she said。
〃What？〃 he answered。
She held him with her hands in the darkness； she felt his
body again with hers。
〃Don't leave me……e back to me；〃 she said。
〃Yes；〃 he said； holding her in his arms。
But the male in him was scotched by the knowledge that she
was not under his spell nor his influence。 He wanted to go away
from her。 He rested in the knowledge that to…morrow he was going
away； his life was really elsewhere。 His life was
elsewhere……his life was elsewhere……the centre of his
life was not what she would have。 She was different……there
was a breach between them。 They were hostile worlds。
〃You will e back to me？〃 she reiterated。
〃Yes；〃 he said。 And he meant it。 But as one keeps an
appointment； not as a man returning to his fulfilment。
So she kissed him； and went indoors； lost。 He walked down to
the Marsh abstracted。 The contact with her hurt him； and
threatened him。 He shrank； he had to be free of her spirit。 For
she would stand before him； like the angel before Balaam； and
drive him back with a sword from the way he was going； into a
wilderness。
The next day she went to the station to see him go。 She
looked at him； she turned to him； but he was always so strange
and null……so null。 He was so collected。 She thought it was
that which made him null。 Strangely nothing he was。
Ursula stood near him with a mute； pale face which he would
rather not see。 There seemed some shame at the very root of
life； cold； dead shame for her。
The three made a noticeable group on the station； the girl in
her fur cap and tippet and her olive green costume； pale； tense
with youth； isolated； unyielding； the soldierly young man in a
crush hat and a heavy overcoat； his face rather pale and
reserved above his purple scarf； his whole figure neutral； then
the elder man； a fashionable bowler hat pressed low over his
dark brows； his face warm…coloured and calm； his whole figure
curiously suggestive of full…blooded indifference； he was the
eternal audience； the chorus； the spectator at the drama； in his
own life he would have no drama。
The train was rushing up。 Ursula's heart heaved； but the ice
was frozen too strong upon it。
〃Good…bye；〃 she said； lifting her hand； her face laughing
with her peculiar； blind； almost dazzling laugh。 She wondered
what he was doing； when he stooped and kissed her。 He should be
shaking hands and going。
〃Good…bye；〃 she said again。
He picked up his little bag and turned his back on her。 There
was a hurry along the train。 Ah； here was his carriage。 He took
his seat。 Tom Brangwen shut the door； and the two men shook
hands as the whistle went。
〃Good…bye……and good luck；〃 said Brangwen。
〃Thank you……good…bye。〃
The train moved off。 Skrebensky stood at the carriage window；
waving； but not really looking to the two figures； the girl and
the warm…coloured； almost effeminately…dressed man Ursula waved
her handkerchief。 The train gathered speed； it grew smaller and
smaller。 Still it ran in a straight line。 The speck of white
vanished。 The rear of the train was small in the distance。 Still
she stood on the platform； feeling a great emptiness about her。
In spite of herself her mouth was quivering： she did not want to
cry： her heart was dead cold。
Her Uncle Tom had gone to an automatic machine； and was
getting matches。
〃Would you like some sweets？〃 he said； turning round。
Her face was covered with tears； she made curious； downward
grimaces with her mouth； to get control。 Yet her heart was not
crying……it was cold and earthy。
〃What kind would you like……any？〃 persisted her
uncle。
〃I should love some peppermint drops；〃 she said； in a
strange； normal voice； from her distorted face。 But in a few
moments she had gained control of herself； and was still；
detached。
〃Let us go into the town；〃 he said； and he rushed her into a
train； moving to the town station。 They went to a cafe to drink
coffee； she sat looking at people in the street； and a great
wound was in her breast； a cold imperturbability in her
soul。
This cold imperturbability of spirit continued in her now。 It
was as if some disillusion had frozen upon her； a hard
disbelief。 Part of her had gone cold； apathetic。 She was too
young； too baffled to understand； or even to know that she
suffered much。 And she was too deeply hurt to submit。
She had her blind agonies； when she wanted him； she wanted
him。 But from the moment of his departure； he had bee a
visionary thing of her own。 All her roused torment and passion
and yearning she turned to him。
She kept a diary； in which she wrote impulsive thoughts。
Seeing the moon in the sky； her own heart surcharged； she went
and wrote：
〃If I were the moon； I know where I would fall down。〃
It meant so much to her； that sentence……she put into it
all the anguish of her youth and her young passion and yearning。
She called to him from her heart wherever she went； her limbs
vibrated with anguish towards him wherever she was； the
radiating force of her soul seemed to travel to him； endlessly；
endlessly； and in her soul's own creation； find him。
But who was he； and where did he exist？ In her own desire
only。
She received a post…card from him； and she put it in her
bosom。 It did not mean much to her； really。 The second day； she
lost it； and never even remembered she had had it； till some
days afterwards。
The long weeks went by。 There came the constant bad news of
the war。 And she felt as if all； outside there in the world；
were a hurt； a hurt against her。 And something in her soul
remained cold； apathetic； unchanging。
Her life was always only partial at this time； never did she
live pletely。 There was the cold； unliving part of her。 Yet
she was madly sensitive。 She could not bear herself。 When a
dirty； red…eyed old woman came begging of her in the street； she
started away as from an unclean thing。 And then； when the old
woman shouted acrid insults after her； she winced； her limbs
palpitated with insane torment； she could not bear herself。
Whenever she thought of the red…eyed old woman； a sort of
madness ran in inflammation over her flesh and her brain； she
almost wanted to kill herself。
And in this state； her sexual life flamed into a kind of
disease within her。 She was so overwrough