appeared stepping swiftly in the doorway； pecking； and the light
through her b and her wattles made an oriflamme tossed here
and there； as she went； her grey body was like a ghost。
Anna； watching； threw scraps of bread； and she felt the child
flame within her。 She seemed to remember again forgotten；
burning； far…off things。
〃Where was I born； mother？〃 she asked。
〃In London。〃
〃And was my father〃……she spoke of him as if he were
merely a strange name： she could never connect herself with
him……〃was he dark？〃
〃He had dark…brown hair and dark eyes and a fresh colouring。
He went bald； rather bald； when he was quite young；〃 replied her
mother； also as if telling a tale which was just old
imagination。
〃Was he good…looking？〃
〃Yes……he was very good…looking……rather small。 I
have never seen an Englishman who looked like him。〃
〃Why？〃
〃He was〃……the mother made a quick； running movement with
her hands……〃his figure was alive and changing……it was
never fixed。 He was not in the least steady……like a running
stream。〃
It flashed over the youth……Anna too was like a running
stream。 Instantly he was in love with her again。
Tom Brangwen was frightened。 His heart always filled with
fear； fear of the unknown； when he heard his women speak of
their bygone men as of strangers they had known in passing and
had taken leave of again。
In the room； there came a silence and a singleness over all
their hearts。 They were separate people with separate destinies。
Why should they seek each to lay violent hands of claim on the
other？
The young people went home as a sharp little moon was setting
in the dusk of spring。 Tufts of trees hovered in the upper air；
the little church pricked up shadowily at the top of the hill；
the earth was a dark blue shadow。
She put her hand lightly on his arm； out of her far distance。
And out of the distance； he felt her touch him。 They walked on；
hand in hand； along opposite horizons； touching across the dusk。
There was a sound of thrushes calling in the dark blue
twilight。
〃I think we are going to have an infant； Bill；〃 she said；
from far off。
He trembled； and his fingers tightened on hers。
〃Why？〃 he asked； his heart beating。 〃You don't know？〃
〃I do；〃 she said。
They continued without saying any more； walking along
opposite horizons； hand in hand across the intervening space；
two separate people。 And he trembled as if a wind blew on to him
in strong gusts； out of the unseen。 He was afraid。 He was afraid
to know he was alone。 For she seemed fulfilled and separate and
sufficient in her half of the world。 He could not bear to know
that he was cut off。 Why could he not be always one with her？ It
was he who had given her the child。 Why could she not be with
him； one with him？ Why must he be set in this separateness； why
could she not be with him； close； close； as one with him？ She
must be one with him。
He held her fingers tightly in his own。 She did not know what
he was thinking。 The blaze of light on her heart was too
beautiful and dazzling； from the conception in her womb。 She
walked glorified； and the sound of the thrushes； of the trains
in the valley； of the far…off； faint noises of the town； were
her 〃Magnificat〃。
But he was struggling in silence。 It seemed as though there
were before him a solid wall of darkness that impeded him and
suffocated him and made him mad。 He wanted her to e to him；
to plete him； to stand before him so that his eyes did not；
should not meet the naked darkness。 Nothing mattered to him but
that she should e and plete him。 For he was ridden by the
awful sense of his own limitation。 It was as if he ended
unpleted； as yet uncreated on the darkness； and he wanted her
to e and liberate him into the whole。
But she was plete in herself； and he was ashamed of his
need； his helpless need of her。 His need； and his shame of need；
weighed on him like a madness。 Yet still he was quiet and
gentle； in reverence of her conception； and because she was with
child by him。
And she was happy in showers of sunshine。 She loved her
husband； as a presence； as a grateful condition。 But for the
moment her need was fulfilled； and now she wanted only to hold
her husband by the hand in sheer happiness； without taking
thought； only being glad。
He had various folios of reproductions； and among them a
cheap print from Fra Angelico's 〃Entry of the Blessed into
Paradise〃。 This filled Anna with bliss。 The beautiful； innocent
way in which the Blessed held each other by the hand as they
moved towards the radiance； the real； real； angelic melody； made
her weep with happiness。 The floweriness； the beams of light；
the linking of hands； was almost too much for her； too
innocent。
Day after day came shining through the door of Paradise； day
after day she entered into the brightness。 The child in her
shone till she herself was a beam of sunshine； and how lovely
was the sunshine that loitered and wandered out of doors； where
the catkins on the big hazel bushes at the end of the garden
hung in their shaken； floating aureole； where little fumes like
fire burst out from the black yew trees as a bird settled
clinging to the branches。 One day bluebells were along the
hedge…bottoms； then cowslips twinkled like manna； golden and
evanescent on the meadows。 She was full of a rich drowsiness and
loneliness。 How happy she was； how gorgeous it was to live： to
have known herself； her husband； the passion of love and
begetting； and to know that all this lived and waited and burned
on around her； a terrible purifying fire； through which she had
passed for once to e to this peace of golden radiance； when
she was with child； and innocent； and in love with her husband
and with all the many angels hand in hand。 She lifted her throat
to the breeze that came across the fields； and she felt it
handling her like sisters fondling her； she drank it in perfume
of cowslips and of apple…blossoms。
And in all the happiness a black shadow； shy； wild； a beast
of prey； roamed and vanished from sight； and like strands of
gossamer blown across her eyes； there was a dread for her。
She was afraid when he came home at night。 As yet； her fear
never spoke； the shadow never rushed upon her。 He was gentle；
humble； he kept himself withheld。 His hands were delicate upon
her； and she loved them。 But there ran through her the thrill；
crisp as pain； for she felt the darkness and other…world still
in his soft； sheathed hands。
But the summer drifted in with the silence of a miracle； she
was almost always alone。 All the while； went on the long； lovely
drowsiness； the maidenblush roses in the garden were all shed；
washed away in a pouring rain； summer drifted into autumn； and
the long； vague； golden days began to close。 Crimson clouds
fumed about the west； and as night came on； all the sky was
fuming and steaming； and the moon； far above the swiftness of
vapours； was white； bleared； the night was uneasy。 Suddenly the
moon would appear at a clear window in the sky； looking down
from far above； like a captive。 And Anna did not sleep。 There
was a strange； dark tension about her husband。
She became aware that he was trying to force