Anna。
〃What's this about wanting to get married？〃 he said。
She stood； paling a little； her dark eyes springing to the
hostile； startled look of a savage thing that will defend
itself； but trembles with sensitiveness。
〃I do；〃 she said； out of her unconsciousness。
His anger rose； and he would have liked to break her。
〃You do…you do…and what for？〃 he sneered with contempt。 The
old； childish agony； the blindness that could recognize nobody；
the palpitating antagonism as of a raw； helpless； undefended
thing came back on her。
〃I do because I do；〃 she cried； in the shrill； hysterical way
of her childhood。 〃You are not my father……my father
is dead……you are not my father。〃
She was still a stranger。 She did not recognize him。 The cold
blade cut down； deep into Brangwen's soul。 It cut him off from
her。
〃And what if I'm not？〃 he said。
But he could not bear it。 It had been so passionately dear to
him； her 〃Father……Daddie。〃
He went about for some days as if stunned。 His wife was
bemused。 She did not understand。 She only thought the marriage
was impeded for want of money and position。
There was a horrible silence in the house。 Anna kept out of
sight as much as possible。 She could be for hours alone。
Will Brangwen came back； after stupid scenes at Nottingham。
He too was pale and blank； but unchanging。 His uncle hated him。
He hated this youth； who was so inhuman and obstinate。
Nevertheless； it was to Will Brangwen that the uncle； one
evening； handed over the shares which he had transferred to Anna
Lensky。 They were for two thousand five hundred pounds。 Will
Brangwen looked at his uncle。 It was a great deal of the Marsh
capital here given away。 The youth； however； was only colder and
more fixed。 He was abstract； purely a fixed will。 He gave the
shares to Anna。
After which she cried for a whole day； sobbing her eyes out。
And at night； when she had heard her mother go to bed； she
slipped down and hung in the doorway。 Her father sat in his
heavy silence； like a monument。 He turned his head slowly。
〃Daddy；〃 she cried from the doorway； and she ran to him
sobbing as if her heart would break。
〃Daddy……daddy……daddy。〃
She crouched on the hearthrug with her arms round him and her
face against him。 His body was so big and fortable。 But
something hurt her head intolerably。 She sobbed almost with
hysteria。
He was silent； with his hand on her shoulder。 His heart was
bleak。 He was not her father。 That beloved image she had broken。
Who was he then？ A man put apart with those whose life has no
more developments。 He was isolated from her。 There was a
generation between them； he was old； he had died out from hot
life。 A great deal of ash was in his fire； cold ash。 He felt the
inevitable coldness； and in bitterness forgot the fire。 He sat
in his coldness of age and isolation。 He had his own wife。 And
he blamed himself； he sneered at himself； for this clinging to
the young； wanting the young to belong to him。
The child who clung to him wanted her child…husband。 As was
natural。 And from him； Brangwen； she wanted help； so that her
life might be properly fitted out。 But love she did not want。
Why should there be love between them； between the stout；
middle…aged man and this child？ How could there be anything
between them； but mere human willingness to help each other？ He
was her guardian； no more。 His heart was like ice； his face cold
and expressionless。 She could not move him any more than a
statue。
She crept to bed； and cried。 But she was going to be married
to Will Brangwen； and then she need not bother any more。
Brangwen went to bed with a hard； cold heart； and cursed
himself。 He looked at his wife。 She was still his wife。 Her dark
hair was threaded with grey； her face was beautiful in its
gathering age。 She was just fifty。 How poignantly he saw her！
And he wanted to cut out some of his own heart； which was
incontinent； and demanded still to share the rapid life of
youth。 How he hated himself。
His wife was so poignant and timely。 She was still young and
naive； with some girl's freshness。 But she did not want any more
the fight； the battle； the control； as he； in his incontinence；
still did。 She was so natural； and he was ugly； unnatural； in
his inability to yield place。 How hideous； this greedy
middle…age； which must stand in the way of life； like a large
demon。
What was missing in his life； that； in his ravening soul； he
was not satisfied？ He had had that friend at school； his mother；
his wife； and Anna？ What had he done？ He had failed with his
friend； he had been a poor son； but he had known satisfaction
with his wife； let it be enough； he loathed himself for the
state he was in over Anna。 Yet he was not satisfied。 It was
agony to know it。
Was his life nothing？ Had he nothing to show； no work？ He did
not count his work； anybody could have done it。 What had he
known； but the long； marital embrace with his wife！ Curious；
that this was what his life amounted to！ At any rate； it was
something； it was eternal。 He would say so to anybody； and be
proud of it。 He lay with his wife in his arms； and she was still
his fulfilment； just the same as ever。 And that was the be…all
and the end…all。 Yes； and he was proud of it。
But the bitterness； underneath； that there still remained an
unsatisfied Tom Brangwen； who suffered agony because a girl
cared nothing for him。 He loved his sons……he had them also。
But it was the further； the creative life with the girl； he
wanted as well。 Oh； and he was ashamed。 He trampled himself to
extinguish himself。
What weariness！ There was no peace； however old one grew！ One
was never right； never decent； never master of oneself。 It was
as if his hope had been in the girl。
Anna quickly lapsed again into her love for the youth。 Will
Brangwen had fixed his marriage for the Saturday before
Christmas。 And he waited for her； in his bright； unquestioning
fashion； until then。 He wanted her； she was his； he suspended
his being till the day should e。 The wedding day； December
the twenty…third； had e into being for him as an absolute
thing。 He lived in it。
He did not count the days。 But like a man who journeys in a
ship； he was suspended till the ing to port。
He worked at his carving； he worked in his office； he came to
see her； all was but a form of waiting； without thought or
question。
She was much more alive。 She wanted to enjoy courtship。 He
seemed to e and go like the wind； without asking why or
whither。 But she wanted to enjoy his presence。 For her； he was
the kernel of life； to touch him alone was bliss。 But for him；
she was the essence of life。 She existed as much when he was at
his carving in his lodging in Ilkeston； as when she sat looking
at him in the Marsh kitchen。 In himself； he knew her。 But his
outward faculties seemed suspended。 He did not see her with his
eyes； nor hear her with his voice。
And yet he trembled； sometimes into a kind of swoon； holding
her in his arms。 They would stand sometimes folded together in
the barn； in silence。 Then to her； as she felt his young； tense
figure with her hands； the bliss was intolerable； intolerable
the sense that she possessed