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pond； she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they
were setting off on an invasion of the world。 She watched the
rough horses； one of which was clipped smooth on the belly； so
that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur； stand
kissing each other in the wintry morning by the churchyard
wall。 Everything delighted her； now he was gone； the insulator；
the obstruction removed； the world was all hers； in connection
with her。
She was joyfully active。 Nothing pleased her more than to
hang out the washing in a high wind that came fullbutt over the
round of the hill； tearing the wet garments out of her hands；
making flapflapflap of the waving stuff。 She laughed and
struggled and grew angry。 But she loved her solitary days。
Then he came home at night； and she knitted her brows because
of some endless contest between them。 As he stood in the doorway
her heart changed。 It steeled itself。 The laughter and zest of
the day disappeared from her。 She was stiffened。
They fought an unknown battle； unconsciously。 Still they were
in love with each other； the passion was there。 But the passion
was consumed in a battle。 And the deep； fierce unnamed battle
went on。 Everything glowed intensely about them； the world had
put off its clothes and was awful； with new； primal
nakedness。
Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him。
Half she loved it。 She was being more like him。 All the
weekdays； there was a glint of sky and fields； the little
church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning
through。 But on Sundays； when he stayed at home； a
deeplycoloured； intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of
the earth； the church seemed to fill itself with shadow； to
bee big； a universe to her； there was a burning of blue and
ruby； a sound of worship about her。 And when the doors were
opened； and she came out into the world； it was a world
newcreated； she stepped into the resurrection of the
world； her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the
Passion。
If； as very often； they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays；
then she regained another； lighter world； that had never known
the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting。 Her
husband was obliterated； she was with her father again； who was
so fresh and free and all daylight。 Her husband； with his
intensity and his darkness； was obliterated。 She left him； she
fot him； she accepted her father。
Yet； as she went home again with the young man； she put her
hand on his arm tentatively； a little bit ashamed； her hand
pleaded that he would not hold it against her； her recusancy。
But he was obscured。 He seemed to bee blind； as if he were
not there with her。
Then she was afraid。 She wanted him。 When he was oblivious of
her； she almost went mad with fear。 For she had bee so
vulnerable； so exposed。 She was in touch so intimately。 All
things about her had bee intimate； she had known them near
and lovely； like presences hovering upon her。 What if they
should all go hard and separate again； standing back from her
terrible and distinct； and she； having known them； should be at
their mercy？
This frightened her。 Always； her husband was to her the
unknown to which she was delivered up。 She was a flower that has
been tempted forth into blossom； and has no retreat。 He had her
nakedness in his power。 And who was he； what was he？ A blind
thing； a dark force； without knowledge。 She wanted to preserve
herself。
Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for
a moment。 But as time went on； she began to realize more and
more that he did not alter； that he was something dark； alien to
herself。 She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself。
As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark
opposite to her； that they were opposites； not plements。
He did not alter； he remained separately himself； and he
seemed to expect her to be part of himself； the extension of his
will。 She felt him trying to gain power over her； without
knowing her。 What did he want？ Was he going to bully her？
What did she want herself？ She answered herself； that she
wanted to be happy； to be natural； like the sunlight and the
busy daytime。 And； at the bottom of her soul； she felt he wanted
her to be dark； unnatural。 Sometimes； when he seemed like the
darkness covering and smothering her； she revolted almost in
horror； and struck at him。 She struck at him； and made him
bleed； and he became wicked。 Because she dreaded him and held
him in horror； he became wicked； he wanted to destroy。 And then
the fight between them was cruel。
She began to tremble。 He wanted to impose himself on her。 And
he began to shudder。 She wanted to desert him； to leave him a
prey to the open； with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting
on to devour him。 He must beat her； and make her stay with him。
Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him。
They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood；
feeling the world far off； unable to give help。 Till she began
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 lacedesigner； nor to himself as breadwinner。
Because he went down to the office and worked every
daythat 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
rainwaterlook at itcan it bee grapejuice； 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 darksouled
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 p