himself。
And how could age save youth？ Youth must go to youth。 Always
the storm！ Could she not lie in peace； these years； in the
quiet； apart from life？ No； always the swell must heave upon her
and break against the barriers。 Always she must be embroiled in
the seethe and rage and passion； endless； endless； going on for
ever。 And she wanted to draw away。 She wanted at last her own
innocence and peace。 She did not want her sons to force upon her
any more the old brutal story of desire and offerings and deep；
deep…hidden rage of unsatisfied men against women。 She wanted to
be beyond it all； to know the peace and innocence of age。
She had never been a woman to work much。 So that now she
would stand often at the garden…gate； watching the scant world
go by。 And the sight of children pleased her； made her happy。
She had usually an apple or a few sweets in her pocket。 She
liked children to smile at her。
She never went to her husband's grave。 She spoke of him
simply； as if he were alive。 Sometimes the tears would run down
her face； in helpless sadness。 Then she recovered； and was
herself again； happy。
On wet days； she stayed in bed。 Her bedroom was her city of
refuge； where she could lie down and muse and muse。 Sometimes
Fred would read to her。 But that did not mean much。 She had so
many dreams to dream over； such an unsifted store。 She wanted
time。
Her chief friend at this period was Ursula。 The little girl
and the musing； fragile woman of sixty seemed to understand the
same language。 At Cossethay all was activity and passion；
everything moved upon poles of passion。 Then there were four
children younger than Ursula； a throng of babies； all the time
many lives beating against each other。
So that for the eldest child； the peace of the grandmother's
bedroom was exquisite。 Here Ursula came as to a hushed；
paradisal land； here her own existence became simple and
exquisite to her as if she were a flower。
Always on Saturdays she came down to the Marsh； and always
clutching a little offering； either a little mat made of strips
of coloured； woven paper； or a tiny basket made in the
kindergarten lesson； or a little crayon drawing of a bird。
When she appeared in the doorway； Tilly； ancient but still in
authority； would crane her skinny neck to see who it was。
〃Oh； it's you； is it？〃 she said。 〃I thought we should be
seein' you。 My word； that's a bobby…dazzlin' posy you've
brought！〃
It was curious how Tilly preserved the spirit of Tom
Brangwen； who was dead； in the Marsh。 Ursula always connected
her with her grandfather。
This day the child had brought a tight little nosegay of
pinks； white ones； with a rim of pink ones。 She was very proud
of it； and very shy because of her pride。
〃Your gran'mother's in her bed。 Wipe your shoes well if
you're goin' up； and don't go burstin' in on her like a
skyrocket。 My word； but that's a fine posy！ Did you do it all by
yourself； an' all？〃
Tilly stealthily ushered her into the bedroom。 The child
entered with a strange； dragging hesitation characteristic of
her when she was moved。 Her grandmother was sitting up in bed；
wearing a little grey woollen jacket。
The child hesitated in silence near the bed； clutching the
nosegay in front of her。 Her childish eyes were shining。 The
grandmother's grey eyes shone with a similar light。
〃How pretty！〃 she said。 〃How pretty you have made them！ What
a darling little bunch。〃
Ursula； glowing； thrust them into her grandmother's hand；
saying； 〃I made them you。〃
〃That is how the peasants tied them at home；〃 said the
grandmother； pushing the pinks with her fingers； and smelling
them。 〃Just such tight little bunches！ And they make wreaths for
their hair……they weave the stalks。 Then they go round with
wreaths in their hair； and wearing their best aprons。〃
Ursula immediately imagined herself in this story…land。
〃Did you used to have a wreath in your hair；
grandmother？〃
〃When I was a little girl； I had golden hair； something like
Katie's。 Then I used to have a wreath of little blue flowers；
oh； so blue； that e when the snow is gone。 Andrey； the
coachman； used to bring me the very first。〃
They talked； and then Tilly brought the tea…tray； set for
two。 Ursula had a special green and gold cup kept for herself at
the Marsh。 There was thin bread and butter； and cress for tea。
It was all special and wonderful。 She ate very daintily； with
little fastidious bites。
〃Why do you have two wedding…rings； grandmother？……Must
you？〃 asked the child； noticing her grandmother's ivory coloured
hand with blue veins； above the tray。
〃If I had two husbands； child。〃
Ursula pondered a moment。
〃Then you must wear both rings together？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Which was my grandfather's ring？〃
The woman hesitated。
〃This grandfather whom you knew？ This was his ring； the red
one。 The yellow one was your other grandfather's whom you never
knew。〃
Ursula looked interestedly at the two rings on the proffered
finger。
〃Where did he buy it you？〃 she asked。
〃This one？ In Warsaw； I think。〃
〃You didn't know my own grandfather then？〃
〃Not this grandfather。〃
Ursula pondered this fascinating intelligence。
〃Did he have white whiskers as well？〃
〃No； his beard was dark。 You have his brows； I think。〃
Ursula ceased and became self…conscious。 She at once
identified herself with her Polish grandfather。
〃And did he have brown eyes？〃
〃Yes； dark eyes。 He was a clever man； as quick as a lion。 He
was never still。〃
Lydia still resented Lensky。 When she thought of him； she was
always younger than he； she was always twenty； or twenty…five；
and under his domination。 He incorporated her in his ideas as if
she were not a person herself； as if she were just his
aide…de…camp； or part of his baggage； or one among his surgical
appliances。 She still resented it。 And he was always only
thirty： he had died when he was thirty…four。 She did not feel
sorry for him。 He was older than she。 Yet she still ached in the
thought of those days。
〃Did you like my first grandfather best？〃 asked Ursula。
〃I liked them both；〃 said the grandmother。
And； thinking； she became again Lensky's girl…bride。 He was
of good family； of better family even than her own； for she was
half German。 She was a young girl in a house of insecure
fortune。 And he； an intellectual； a clever surgeon and
physician； had loved her。 How she had looked up to him！ She
remembered her first transports when he talked to her； the
important young man with the severe black beard。 He had seemed
so wonderful； such an authority。 After her own lax household；
his gravity and confident； hard authority seemed almost God…like
to her。 For she had never known it in her life； all her
surroundings had been loose； lax； disordered； a welter。
〃Miss Lydia； will you marry me？〃 he had said to her in
German； in his grave； yet tremulous voice。 She had been afraid
of his dark eyes upon her。 They did not see her； they were fixed
upon her。 And he was hard； confident。 She thrilled with the
excitement of it； and accepted。 During the courtship； his kisses
were a wonder to her。 She always thought about them； and
wondered over them。 S