udder； to find the teats； whilst the mother turned her head
gravely and sniffed her own。 And they were sucking； vibrating
with bliss on their little； long legs； their throats stretched
up； their new bodies quivering to the stream of blood…warm；
loving milk。
Oh； and the bliss； the bliss！ She could scarcely tear herself
away to go to school。 The little noses nuzzling at the udder；
the little bodies so glad and sure； the little black legs；
crooked； the mother standing still； yielding herself to their
quivering attraction……then the mother walked calmly
away。
Jesus……the vision world……the everyday
world……all mixed inextricably in a confusion of pain and
bliss。 It was almost agony； the confusion； the inextricability。
Jesus； the vision； speaking to her； who was non…visionary！ And
she would take his words of the spirit and make them to pander
to her own carnality。
This was a shame to her。 The confusing of the spirit world
with the material world； in her own soul； degraded her。 She
answered the call of the spirit in terms of immediate； everyday
desire。
〃e unto me； all ye that labour and are heavy…laden； and I
will give you rest。〃
It was the temporal answer she gave。 She leapt with sensuous
yearning to respond to Christ。 If she could go to him really；
and lay her head on his breast； to have fort； to be made much
of； caressed like a child！
All the time she walked in a confused heat of religious
yearning。 She wanted Jesus to love her deliciously； to take her
sensuous offering； to give her sensuous response。 For weeks she
went in a muse of enjoyment。
And all the time she knew underneath that she was playing
false； accepting the passion of Jesus for her own physical
satisfaction。 But she was in such a daze； such a tangle。 How
could she get free？
She hated herself； she wanted to trample on herself； destroy
herself。 How could one bee free？ She hated religion； because
it lent itself to her confusion。 She abused everything。 She
wanted to bee hard； indifferent； brutally callous to
everything but just the immediate need； the immediate
satisfaction。 To have a yearning towards Jesus； only that she
might use him to pander to her own soft sensation； use him as a
means of reacting upon herself； maddened her in the end。 There
was then no Jesus； no sentimentality。 With all the bitter hatred
of helplessness she hated sentimentality。
At this period came the young Skrebensky。 She was nearly
sixteen years old； a slim； smouldering girl； deeply reticent；
yet lapsing into unreserved expansiveness now and then； when she
seemed to give away her whole soul； but when in fact she only
made another counterfeit of her soul for outward presentation。
She was sensitive in the extreme； always tortured； always
affecting a callous indifference to screen herself。
She was at this time a nuisance on the face of the earth；
with her spasmodic passion and her slumberous torment。 She
seemed to go with all her soul in her hands； yearning； to the
other person。 Yet all the while； deep at the bottom of her was a
childish antagonism of distrust。 She thought she loved everybody
and believed in everybody。 But because she could not love
herself nor believe in herself； she mistrusted everybody with
the mistrust of a serpent or a captured bird。 Her starts of
revulsion and hatred were more inevitable than her impulses of
love。
So she wrestled through her dark days of confusion； soulless；
uncreated； unformed。
One evening； as she was studying in the parlour； her head
buried in her hands； she heard new voices in the kitchen
speaking。 At once； from its apathy； her excitable spirit started
and strained to listen。 It seemed to crouch； to lurk under
cover； tense； glaring forth unwilling to be seen。
There were two strange men's voices； one soft and candid；
veiled with soft candour； the other veiled with easy mobility；
running quickly。 Ursula sat quite tense； shocked out of her
studies； lost。 She listened all the time to the sound of the
voices； scarcely heeding the words。
The first speaker was her Uncle Tom。 She knew the naive
candour covering the girding and savage misery of his soul。 Who
was the other speaker？ Whose voice ran on so easy； yet with an
inflamed pulse？ It seemed to hasten and urge her forward； that
other voice。
〃I remember you；〃 the young man's voice was saying。 〃I
remember you from the first time I saw you； because of your dark
eyes and fair face。〃
Mrs。 Brangwen laughed； shy and pleased。
〃You were a curly…headed little lad；〃 she said。
〃Was I？ Yes； I know。 They were very proud of my curls。〃
And a laugh ran to silence。
〃You were a very well…mannered lad； I remember；〃 said her
father。
〃Oh！ did I ask you to stay the night？ I always used to ask
people to stay the night。 I believe it was rather trying for my
mother。〃
There was a general laugh。 Ursula rose。 She had to go。
At the click of the latch everybody looked round。 The girl
hung in the doorway； seized with a moment's fierce confusion。
She was going to be good…looking。 Now she had an attractive
gawkiness； as she hung a moment； not knowing how to carry her
shoulders。 Her dark hair was tied behind； her yellow…brown eyes
shone without direction。 Behind her； in the parlour； was the
soft light of a lamp upon open books。
A superficial readiness took her to her Uncle Tom； who kissed
her； greeting her with warmth； making a show of intimate
possession of her； and at the same time leaving evident his own
plete detachment。
But she wanted to turn to the stranger。 He was standing back
a little； waiting。 He was a young man with very clear greyish
eyes that waited until they were called upon； before they took
expression。
Something in his self…possessed waiting moved her； and she
broke into a confused； rather beautiful laugh as she gave him
her hand； catching her breath like an excited child。 His hand
closed over hers very close； very near； he bowed； and his eyes
were watching her with some attention。 She felt proud……her
spirit leapt to life。
〃You don't know Mr。 Skrebensky； Ursula；〃 came her Uncle Tom's
intimate voice。 She lifted her face with an impulsive flash to
the stranger； as if to declare a knowledge； laughing her
palpitating； excited laugh。
His eyes became confused with roused lights； his detached
attention changed to a readiness for her。 He was a young man of
twenty…one； with a slender figure and soft brown hair brushed up
on the German fashion straight from his brow。
〃Are you staying long？〃 she asked。
〃I've got a month's leave；〃 he said； glancing at Tom
Brangwen。 〃But I've various places I must go to……put in
some time here and there。〃
He brought her a strong sense of the outer world。 It was as
if she were set on a hill and could feel vaguely the whole world
lying spread before her。
〃What have you a month's leave from？〃 she asked。
〃I'm in the Engineers……in the Army。〃
〃Oh！〃 she exclaimed； glad。
〃We're taking you away from your studies；〃 said her
Uncle Tom。
〃Oh； no；〃 she replied quickly。
Skrebensky laughed； young and inflammable。
〃She won't wait to be taken away；〃 said her father。 But that
seemed clumsy。 She wished he would leave her to say