sword of angels； flashing at the door to e in； that the
angels in the darkness were lordly and terrible and not to be
denied； like the flash of fangs。
It was a little while before Easter； in her last year of
college； when Ursula was twenty…two years old； that she heard
again from Skrebensky。 He had written to her once or twice from
South Africa； during the first months of his service out there
in the war； and since had sent her a post…card every now and
then； at ever longer intervals。 He had bee a first
lieutenant； and had stayed out in Africa。 She had not heard of
him now for more than two years。
Often her thoughts returned to him。 He seemed like the
gleaming dawn； yellow； radiant； of a long； grey； ashy day。 The
memory of him was like the thought of the first radiant hours of
morning。 And here was the blank grey ashiness of later daytime。
Ah； if he had only remained true to her； she might have known
the sunshine； without all this toil and hurt and degradation of
a spoiled day。 He would have been her angel。 He held the keys of
the sunshine。 Still he held them。 He could open to her the gates
of succeeding freedom and delight。 Nay； if he had remained true
to her； he would have been the doorway to her； into the
boundless sky of happiness and plunging； inexhaustible freedom
which was the paradise of her soul。 Ah； the great range he would
have opened to her； the illimitable endless space for
self…realization and delight for ever。
The one thing she believed in was in the love she had held
for him。 It remained shining and plete； a thing to hark back
to。 And she said to herself； when present things seemed a
failure：
〃Ah； I was fond of him；〃 as if with him the leading
flower of her life had died。
Now she heard from him again。 The chief effect was pain。 The
pleasure； the spontaneous joy was not there any longer。 But her
will rejoiced。 Her will had fixed itself to him。 And the
old excitement of her dreams stirred and woke up。 He was e；
the man with the wondrous lips that could send the kiss wavering
to the very end of all space。 Was he e back to her？ She did
not believe。
My dear Ursula； I am back in England again for a few
months before going out again； this time to India。 I wonder if
you still keep the memory of our times together。 I have still
got the little photograph of you。 You must be changed since
then； for it is about six years ago。 I am fully six years
older；……I have lived through another life since I knew you
at Cossethay。 I wonder if you would care to see me。 I shall e
up to Derby next week； and I would call in Nottingham； and we
might have tea together。 Will you let me know？ I shall look for
your answer。
Anton Skrebensky
Ursula had taken this letter from the rack in the hall at
college； and torn it open as she crossed to the Women's room。
The world seemed to dissolve away from around her； she stood
alone in clear air。
Where could she go； to be alone？ She fled away； upstairs； and
through the private way to the reference library。 Seizing a
book； she sat down and pondered the letter。 Her heart beat； her
limbs trembled。 As in a dream； she heard one gong sound in the
college； then； strangely； another。 The first lecture had gone
by。
Hurriedly she took one of her note…books and began to
write。
〃Dear Anton； Yes； I still have the ring。 I should be very
glad to see you again。 You can e here to college for me； or I
will meet you somewhere in the town。 Will you let me know？ Your
sincere friend〃
Trembling； she asked the librarian； who was her friend； if he
would give her an envelope。 She sealed and addressed her letter；
and went out； bare…headed； to post it。 When it was dropped into
the pillar…box； the world became a very still； pale place；
without confines。 She wandered back to college； to her pale
dream； like a first wan light of dawn。
Skrebensky came one afternoon the following week。 Day after
day； she had hurried swiftly to the letter…rack on her arrival
at college in the morning； and during the intervals between
lectures。 Several times； swiftly； with secretive fingers； she
had plucked his letter down from its public prominence； and fled
across the hall holding it fast and hidden。 She read her letters
in the botany laboratory； where her corner was always reserved
to her。
Several letters； and then he was ing。 It was Friday
afternoon he appointed。 She worked over her microscope with
feverish activity； able to give only half her attention； yet
working closely and rapidly。 She had on her slide some special
stuff e up from London that day； and the professor was fussy
and excited about it。 At the same time； as she focused the light
on her field； and saw the plant…animal lying shadowy in a
boundless light； she was fretting over a conversation she had
had a few days ago with Dr。 Frankstone； who was a woman doctor
of physics in the college。
〃No； really；〃 Dr。 Frankstone had said； 〃I don't see why we
should attribute some special mystery to life……do you？ We
don't understand it as we understand electricity； even； but that
doesn't warrant our saying it is something special； something
different in kind and distinct from everything else in the
universe……do you think it does？ May it not be that life
consists in a plexity of physical and chemical activities； of
the same order as the activities we already know in science？ I
don't see； really； why we should imagine there is a special
order of life； and life alone〃
The conversation had ended on a note of uncertainty；
indefinite； wistful。 But the purpose； what was the purpose？
Electricity had no soul； light and heat had no soul。 Was she
herself an impersonal force； or conjunction of forces； like one
of these？ She looked still at the unicellular shadow that lay
within the field of light； under her microscope。 It was alive。
She saw it move……she saw the bright mist of its ciliary
activity； she saw the gleam of its nucleus； as it slid across
the plane of light。 What then was its will？ If it was a
conjunction of forces； physical and chemical； what held these
forces unified； and for what purpose were they unified？
For what purpose were the incalculable physical and chemical
activities nodalized in this shadowy； moving speck under her
microscope？ What was the will which nodalized them and created
the one thing she saw？ What was its intention？ To be itself？ Was
its purpose just mechanical and limited to itself？
It intended to be itself。 But what self？ Suddenly in her mind
the world gleamed strangely； with an intense light； like the
nucleus of the creature under the microscope。 Suddenly she had
passed away into an intensely…gleaming light of knowledge。 She
could not understand what it all was。 She only knew that it was
not limited mechanical energy； nor mere purpose of
self…preservation and self…assertion。 It was a consummation； a
being infinite。 Self was a oneness with the infinite。 To be
oneself was a supreme； gleaming triumph of infinity。
Ursula sat abstracted over her microscope； in suspense。 Her
soul was busy； infinitely busy； in the new world。 In the new
world； Skrebensky was waiting for her……he would be waiting
for her。 She could not go yet； becaus