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water on it。 The whole thing was distasteful to him； his mouth
was full of ashes。 He went out cold with corpselike anger；
leaving her alone。 He hated her。 He walked through the white
snow； under a sky of lead。
And she wept again； in bitter recurrence of the previous
gloom。 But her heart was easyoh； much more easy。
She ake it up with him when he came
home again。 He was black and surly； but abated。 She had broken a
little of something in him。 And at length he was glad to forfeit
from his soul all his symbols； to have her making love to him。
He loved it when she put her head on his knee； and he had not
asked her to or wanted her to； he loved her when she put her
arms round him and made bold love to him； and he did not make
love to her。 He felt a strong blood in his limbs again。
And she loved the intent； far look of his eyes when they
rested on her： intent； yet far； not near； not with her。 And she
wanted to bring them near。 She wanted his eyes to e to hers；
to know her。 And they would not。 They remained intent； and far；
and proud； like a hawk's naive and inhuman as a hawk's。 So she
loved him and caressed him and roused him like a hawk； till he
was keen and instant； but without tenderness。 He came to her
fierce and hard； like a hawk striking and taking her。 He was no
mystic any more； she was his aim and object； his prey。 And she
was carried off； and he was satisfied； or satiated at last。
Then immediately she began to retaliate on him。 She too was a
hawk。 If she imitated the pathetic plover running plaintive to
him； that was part of the game。 When he； satisfied； moved with a
proud； insolent slouch of the body and a halfcontemptuous drop
of the head； unaware of her； ignoring her very existence； after
taking his fill of her and getting his satisfaction of her； her
soul roused； its pinions became like steel； and she struck at
him。 When he sat on his perch glancing sharply round with
solitary pride； pride eminent and fierce； she dashed at him and
threw him from his station savagely； she goaded him from his
keen dignity of a male； she harassed him from his unperturbed
pride； till he was mad with rage； his light brown eyes burned
with fury； they saw her now； like flames of anger they flared at
her and recognized her as the enemy。
Very good； she was the enemy； very good。 As he prowled round
her； she watched him。 As he struck at her； she struck back。
He was angry because she had carelessly pushed away his tools
so that they got rusty。
〃Don't leave them littering in my way； then；〃 she said。
〃I shall leave them where I like；〃 he cried。
〃Then I shall throw them where I like。〃
They glowered at each other； he with rage in his hands； she
with her soul fierce with victory。 They were very well matched。
They would fight it out。
She turned to her sewing。 Immediately the teathings were
cleared away； she fetched out the stuff； and his soul rose in
rage。 He hated beyond measure to hear the shriek of calico as
she tore the web sharply； as if with pleasure。 And the run of
the sewingmachine gathered a frenzy in him at last。
〃Aren't you going to stop that row？〃 he shouted。 〃Can't you
do it in the daytime？〃
She looked up sharply； hostile from her work。
〃No； I can't do it in the daytime。 I have other things to do。
Besides； I like sewing； and you're not going to stop me doing
it。〃
Whereupon she turned back to her arranging； fixing；
stitching； his nerves jumped with anger as the sewingmachine
started and stuttered and buzzed。
But she was enjoying herself； she was triumphant and happy as
the darting needle danced ecstatically down a hem； drawing the
stuff along under its vivid stabbing； irresistibly。 She made the
machine hum。 She stopped it imperiously； her fingers were deft
and swift and mistress。
If he sat behind her stiff with impotent rage it only made a
trembling vividness e into her energy。 On she worked。 At last
he went to bed in a rage； and lay stiff； away from her。 And she
turned her back on him。 And in the morning they did not speak；
except in mere cold civilities。
And when he came home at night； his heart relenting and
growing hot for love of her； when he was just ready to feel he
had been wrong； and when he was expecting her to feel the same；
there she sat at the sewingmachine； the whole house was covered
with clipped calico； the kettle was not even on the fire。
She started up； affecting concern。
〃Is it so late？〃 she cried。
But his face had gone stiff with rage。 He walked through to
the parlour； then he walked back and out of the house again。 Her
heart sank。 Very swiftly she began to make his tea。
He went blackhearted down the road to Ilkeston。 When he was
in this state he never thought。 A bolt shot across the doors of
his mind and shut him in； a prisoner。 He went back to Ilkeston；
and drank a glass of beer。 What was he going to do？ He did not
want to see anybody。
He would go to Nottingham； to his own town。 He went to the
station and took a train。 When he got to Nottingham； still he
had nowhere to go。 However； it was more agreeable to walk
familiar streets。 He paced them with a mad restlessness； as if
he were running amok。 Then he turned to a bookshop and found a
book on Bamberg Cathedral。 Here was a discovery！ here was
something for him！ He went into a quiet restaurant to look at
his treasure。 He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from
picture to picture。 He had found something at last； in these
carvings。 His soul had great satisfaction。 Had he not e out
to seek； and had he not found！ He was in a passion of
fulfilment。 These were the finest carvings； statues； he had ever
seen。 The book lay in his hands like a doorway。 The world around
was only an enclosure； a room。 But he was going away。 He
lingered over the lovely statues of women。 A marvellous；
finelywrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked
again； at the crowns； the twining hair； the womanfaces。 He
liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German。 He
preferred things he could not understand with the mind。 He loved
the undiscovered and the undiscoverable。 He pored over the
pictures intensely。 And these were wooden statues；
〃Holz〃he believed that meant wood。 Wooden statues so
shapen to his soul！ He was a million times gladdened。 How
undiscovered the world was； how it revealed itself to his soul！
What a fine； exciting thing his life was； at his hand！ Did not
Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own？ He celebrated his
triumphant strength and life and verity； and embraced the vast
riches he was inheriting。
But it was about time to go home。 He had better catch a
train。 All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of
his soul； but so steady as to be fettable。 He caught a train
for Ilkeston。
It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay；
carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral。 He had not yet
thought of Anna； not definitely。 The dark finger pressing a
bruise controlled him thoughtlessly。
Anna had started guiltily when he left the house。 She had
hastened preparing the tea； hoping he would e back。 She had
made some toast； and got all ready。 Then he didn't e。 She
cried with vexation and disappointment。 Why had he gone？ Why
couldn't he e back now？ Why was it such a battle between
them？ She loved himshe did love himwhy couldn't he
be kinder to her； nicer to her？
She waited in distressthen her mood grew harder。 He
passed out of her thoughts。 She had considered indignantly； what
right he had to interfere with her sewing？ She had indignantly
refuted his right to interfere with her at all。 She was not to
be interfered with。 Was she not herself； and he the
outsider。
Yet a quiver of fear went through her。 If he should leave
her？ She sat conjuring fears and sufferings； till she wept with
very selfpity。 She did not know what she would do if he left
her； or if he turned against her。 The thought of it chilled her；
made her desolate and hard。 And against him； the stranger； the
outsider； the being who wanted to arrogate authority； she
remained steadily fortified。 Was she not herself？ How could one
who was not of her own kind presume with authority？ She knew she
was immutable； unchangeable； she was not afraid for her own
being。 She was only afraid of all that was not herself。 It
pressed round her； it came to her and took part in her； in form
of her man； this vast； resounding； alien world which was not
herself。 And he had so many weapons； he might strike from so
many sides。
When he came in at the door； his heart was blazed with pity
and tenderness； she looked so lost and forlorn and young。 She
glanced up； afraid。 And she was surprised to see him；
shiningfaced； clear and beautiful in his movements； as if he
were clarified。 And a startled pang of fear； and shame of
herself went through her。
They waited for each other to speak。
〃Do you want to eat anything？〃 she said。
〃I'll get it myself；〃 he answered； not wanting her to serve
him。 But she brought out food。 And it pleased him she did it for
him。 He was again a bright lord。
〃I went to Nottingham；〃 he said mildly。
〃To your mother？〃 she asked； in a flash of contempt。
〃NoI didn't go home。〃
〃Who did you go to see？〃
〃I went to see nobody。〃
〃Then why did you go to Nottingham？〃
〃I went because I wanted to go。〃
He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was
so clear and shining。
〃And who did you see？〃
〃I saw nobody。〃
〃Nobody？〃
〃Nowho should I see？〃
〃You saw nobody you knew？〃
〃No； I didn't；〃 he replied irritably。
She believed him； and her mood became cold。
〃I bought a book；〃 he said； handing her the propitiatory
volume。
She idly looked at the pictures。 Beautiful； the pure women；
with their cleardropping gowns。 Her heart became colder。 What
did they mean to him？
He sat and waited for her。 She bent over the book。
〃Aren't they nice？〃 he said； his voice roused and glad。 Her
blood flushed； but she did not lift her head。
〃Yes；〃 she said。 In spite of herself； she was pelled by
him。 He was strange； attractive； exerting some power over
her。
He came over to her； and touched her delicately。 Her heart
beat with wild passion； wild raging passion。 But she resisted as
yet。 It was always the unknown； always the unknown； and she
clung fiercely to her known self。 But the rising flood carried
her away。
They loved each other to transport again； passionately and
fully。
〃Isn't it more wonderful than ever？〃 she asked him； radiant
like a newly opened flower； with tears like dew。
He held her closer。 He was strange and abstracted。
〃It is always more wonderful；〃 she asseverated； in a glad；
child's voice； remembering her fear； and not quite cleared of it
yet。
So it went on continually； the recurrence of love and
conflict between them。 One day it seemed as if everything was
shattered； all life spoiled； ruined； desolate and laid waste。
The next day it was all marvellous again； just marvellous。 One
day she thought she would go mad from his very presence； the
sound of his drinking was detestable to her。 The next day she
loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor； he was sun；
moon and stars in one。
She fretted； however； at last； over the lack of stability。
When the perfect hours came back； her heart did not fet that
they would pass away again。 She was uneasy。 The surety； the
surety； the inner surety； the confidence in the abidingness of
love： that was what she wanted。 And that she did not get。 She
knew also that he had not got it。
Nevertheless it was a marvellous world； she was for the most
part lost in the marvellousness of it。 Even her great woes were
marvellous to her。
She could be very happy。 And she wanted to be happy。 She
resented it when he made her unhappy。 Then she could kill him；
cast him out。 Many days； she waited for the hour when he would
be gone to work。 Then the flow of her life； which he seemed to
damn up； was let loose； and she was free。 She was free； she was
full of delight。 Everything delighted her。 She took up the rug
and went to shake it in the garden。 Patches of snow were on the
fields； the air was light。 She heard the ducks shouting on the
pond； she saw them charge and sail across the water as if t