yet her soul was not brought in at all。
So that whilst she had an affection for Mr。 Loverseed； the
vicar； and a protective sort of feeling for Cossethay church；
wanting always to help it and defend it； it counted very small
in her life。
Not but that she was conscious of some unsatisfaction。 When
her husband was roused by the thought of the churches； then she
became hostile to the ostensible church； she hated it for not
fulfilling anything in her。 The Church told her to be good： very
well； she had no idea of contradicting what it said。 The Church
talked about her soul； about the welfare of mankind； as if the
saving of her soul lay in her performing certain acts conducive
to the welfare of mankind。 Well and good…it was so； then。
Nevertheless； as she sat in church her face had a pathos and
poignancy。 Was this what she had e to hear： how by doing this
thing and by not doing that； she could save her soul？ She did
not contradict it。 But the pathos of her face gave the lie。
There was something else she wanted to hear； it was something
else she asked for from the Church。
But who was she to affirm it？ And what was she doing
with unsatisfied desires？ She was ashamed。 She ignored them and
left them out of count as much as possible； her underneath
yearnings。 They angered her。 She wanted to be like other people；
decently satisfied。
He angered her more than ever。 Church had an irresistible
attraction for him。 And he paid no more attention to that part
of the service which was Church to her； than if he had been an
angel or a fabulous beast sitting there。 He simply paid no heed
to the sermon or to the meaning of the service。 There was
something thick； dark； dense； powerful about him that irritated
her too deeply for her to speak of it。 The Church teaching in
itself meant nothing to him。 〃And forgive us our trespasses as
we forgive them that trespass against us〃……it simply did
not touch him。 It might have been more sounds； and it would have
acted upon him in the same way。 He did not want things to be
intelligible。 And he did not care about his trespasses； neither
about the trespasses of his neighbour； when he was in church。
Leave that care for weekdays。 When he was in church； he took no
more notice of his daily life。 It was weekday stuff。 As for the
welfare of mankind……he merely did not realize that there
was any such thing： except on weekdays； when he was good…natured
enough。 In church； he wanted a dark； nameless emotion； the
emotion of all the great mysteries of passion。
He was not interested in the thought of himself or of
her： oh； and how that irritated her！ He ignored the sermon； he
ignored the greatness of mankind； he did not admit the immediate
importance of mankind。 He did not care about himself as a human
being。 He did not attach any vital importance to his life in the
drafting office； or his life among men。 That was just merely the
margin to the text。 The verity was his connection with Anna and
his connection with the Church； his real being lay in his dark
emotional experience of the Infinite； of the Absolute。 And the
great mysterious； illuminated capitals to the text； were his
feelings with the Church。
It exasperated her beyond measure。 She could not get out of
the Church the satisfaction he got。 The thought of her soul was
intimately mixed up with the thought of her own self。 Indeed；
her soul and her own self were one and the same in her。 Whereas
he seemed simply to ignore the fact of his own self； almost to
refute it。 He had a soul……a dark； inhuman thing caring
nothing for humanity。 So she conceived it。 And in the gloom and
the mystery of the Church his soul lived and ran free； like some
strange； underground thing； abstract。
He was very strange to her； and； in this church spirit； in
conceiving himself as a soul； he seemed to escape and run free
of her。 In a way； she envied it him； this dark freedom and
jubilation of the soul； some strange entity in him。 It
fascinated her。 Again she hated it。 And again； she despised him；
wanted to destroy it in him。
This snowy morning； he sat with a dark…bright face beside
her； not aware of her； and somehow； she felt he was conveying to
strange； secret places the love that sprang in him for her。 He
sat with a dark…rapt； half…delighted face； looking at a little
stained window。 She saw the ruby…coloured glass； with the shadow
heaped along the bottom from the snow outside； and the familiar
yellow figure of the lamb holding the banner； a little darkened
now； but in the murky interior strangely luminous； pregnant。
She had always liked the little red and yellow window。 The
lamb； looking very silly and self…conscious； was holding up a
forepaw； in the cleft of which was dangerously perched a little
flag with a red cross。 Very pale yellow； the lamb； with greenish
shadows。 Since she was a child she had liked this creature； with
the same feeling she felt for the little woolly lambs on green
legs that children carried home from the fair every year。 She
had always liked these toys； and she had the same amused；
childish liking for this church lamb。 Yet she had always been
uneasy about it。 She was never sure that this lamb with a flag
did not want to be more than it appeared。 So she half mistrusted
it； there was a mixture of dislike in her attitude to it。
Now； by a curious gathering； knitting of his eyes； the
faintest tension of ecstasy on his face； he gave her the
unfortable feeling that he was in correspondence with the
creature； the lamb in the window。 A cold wonder came over
her……her soul was perplexed。 There he sat； motionless；
timeless； with the faint； bright tension on his face。 What was
he doing？ What connection was there between him and the lamb in
the glass？
Suddenly it gleamed to her dominant； this lamb with the flag。
Suddenly she had a powerful mystic experience； the power of the
tradition seized on her； she was transported to another world。
And she hated it； resisted it。
Instantly； it was only a silly lamb in the glass again。 And
dark； violent hatred of her husband swept up in her。 What was he
doing； sitting there gleaming； carried away； soulful？
She shifted sharply； she knocked him as she pretended to pick
up her glove； she groped among his feet。
He came to； rather bewildered； exposed。 Anybody but her would
have pitied him。 She wanted to rend him。 He did not know what
was amiss； what he had been doing。
As they sat at dinner； in their cottage； he was dazed by the
chill of antagonism from her。 She did not know why she was so
angry。 But she was incensed。
〃Why do you never listen to the sermon？〃 she asked； seething
with hostility and violation。
〃I do；〃 he said。
〃You don't……you don't hear a single word。〃
He retired into himself； to enjoy his own sensation。 There
was something subterranean about him； as if he had an underworld
refuge。 The young girl hated to be in the house with him when he
was like this。
After dinner； he retired into the parlour； continuing in the
same state of abstraction； which was a burden intolerable to
her。 Then he went to the book…shelf and took down books to look
at； that she had scarcely glanced over。
He sat absorbed o