girl。 It was a child with a face like a bud of apple…blossom；
and glistening fair hair like thistle…down sticking out in
straight； wild； flamy pieces； and very dark eyes。 The child
clung jealously to her mother's side when he looked at her；
staring with resentful black eyes。 But the mother glanced at him
again； almost vacantly。 And the very vacancy of her look
inflamed him。 She had wide grey…brown eyes with very dark；
fathomless pupils。 He felt the fine flame running under his
skin； as if all his veins had caught fire on the surface。 And he
went on walking without knowledge。
It was ing； he knew； his fate。 The world was submitting to
its transformation。 He made no move： it would e； what would
e。
When his sister Effie came to the Marsh for a week； he went
with her for once to church。 In the tiny place； with its mere
dozen pews； he sat not far from the stranger。 There was a
fineness about her； a poignancy about the way she sat and held
her head lifted。 She was strange； from far off； yet so intimate。
She was from far away； a presence； so close to his soul。 She was
not really there； sitting in Cossethay church beside her little
girl。 She was not living the apparent life of her days。 She
belonged to somewhere else。 He felt it poignantly； as something
real and natural。 But a pang of fear for his own concrete life；
that was only Cossethay； hurt him； and gave him misgiving。
Her thick dark brows almost met above her irregular nose； she
had a wide； rather thick mouth。 But her face was lifted to
another world of life： not to heaven or death： but to some place
where she still lived； in spite of her body's absence。
The child beside her watched everything with wide； black
eyes。 She had an odd little defiant look； her little red mouth
was pinched shut。 She seemed to be jealously guarding something；
to be always on the alert for defence。 She met Brangwen's near；
vacant； intimate gaze； and a palpitating hostility； almost like
a flame of pain； came into the wide； over…conscious dark
eyes。
The old clergyman droned on； Cossethay sat unmoved as usual。
And there was the foreign woman with a foreign air about her；
inviolate； and the strange child； also foreign； jealously
guarding something。
When the service was over； he walked in the way of another
existence out of the church。 As he went down the church…path
with his sister； behind the woman and child； the little girl
suddenly broke from her mother's hand； and slipped back with
quick； almost invisible movement； and was picking at something
almost under Brangwen's feet。 Her tiny fingers were fine and
quick； but they missed the red button。
〃Have you found something？〃 said Brangwen to her。
And he also stooped for the button。 But she had got it； and
she stood back with it pressed against her little coat； her
black eyes flaring at him； as if to forbid him to notice her。
Then； having silenced him； she turned with a swift
〃Mother；〃 and was gone down the path。
The mother had stood watching impassive； looking not at the
child； but at Brangwen。 He became aware of the woman looking at
him； standing there isolated yet for him dominant in her foreign
existence。
He did not know what to do； and turned to his sister。 But the
wide grey eyes； almost vacant yet so moving； held him beyond
himself。
〃Mother； I may have it； mayn't I？〃 came the child's proud；
silvery tones。 〃Mother〃…she seemed always to be calling her
mother to remember her…〃mother〃…and she had nothing to continue
now her mother had replied 〃Yes； my child。〃 But； with ready
invention； the child stumbled and ran on； 〃What are those
people's names？〃
Brangwen heard the abstract：
〃I don't know； dear。〃
He went on down the road as if he were not living inside
himself； but somewhere outside。
〃Who was that person？〃 his sister Effie asked。
〃I couldn't tell you；〃 he answered unknowing。
〃She's somebody very funny；〃 said Effie； almost in
condemnation。 〃That child's like one bewitched。〃
〃Bewitched……how bewitched？〃 he repeated。
〃You can see for yourself。 The mother's plain； I must
say……but the child is like a changeling。 She'd be about
thirty…five。〃
But he took no notice。 His sister talked on。
〃There's your woman for you；〃 she continued。 〃You'd better
marry her。〃 But still he took no notice。 Things were as
they were。
Another day； at tea…time； as he sat alone at table； there
came a knock at the front door。 It startled him like a portent。
No one ever knocked at the front door。 He rose and began
slotting back the bolts； turning the big key。 When he had opened
the door； the strange woman stood on the threshold。
〃Can you give me a pound of butter？〃 she asked； in a curious
detached way of one speaking a foreign language。
He tried to attend to her question。 She was looking at him
questioningly。 But underneath the question； what was there； in
her very standing motionless； which affected him？
He stepped aside and she at once entered the house； as if the
door had been opened to admit her。 That startled him。 It was the
custom for everybody to wait on the doorstep till asked inside。
He went into the kitchen and she followed。
His tea…things were spread on the scrubbed deal table； a big
fire was burning； a dog rose from the hearth and went to her。
She stood motionless just inside the kitchen。
〃Tilly；〃 he called loudly； 〃have we got any butter？〃
The stranger stood there like a silence in her black
cloak。
〃Eh？〃 came the shrill cry from the distance。
He shouted his question again。
〃We've got what's on t' table；〃 answered Tilly's shrill voice
out of the dairy。
Brangwen looked at the table。 There was a large pat of butter
on a plate； almost a pound。 It was round； and stamped with
acorns and oak…leaves。
〃Can't you e when you're wanted？〃 he shouted。
〃Why； what d'you want？〃 Tilly protested； as she came peeking
inquisitively through the other door。
She saw the strange woman； stared at her with cross…eyes； but
said nothing。
〃Haven't we any butter？〃 asked Brangwen again；
impatiently； as if he could mand some by his question。
〃I tell you there's what's on t' table；〃 said Tilly；
impatient that she was unable to create any to his demand。 〃We
haven't a morsel besides。〃
There was a moment's silence。
The stranger spoke； in her curiously distinct； detached
manner of one who must think her speech first。
〃Oh； then thank you very much。 I am sorry that I have e to
trouble you。〃
She could not understand the entire lack of manners； was
slightly puzzled。 Any politeness would have made the situation
quite impersonal。 But here it was a case of wills in confusion。
Brangwen flushed at her polite speech。 Still he did not let her
go。
〃Get summat an' wrap that up for her；〃 he said to
Tilly； looking at the butter on the table。
And taking a clean knife； he cut off that side of the butter
where it was touched。
His speech； the 〃for her〃； penetrated slowly into the foreign
woman and angered Tilly。
〃Vicar has his butter fra Brown's by rights；〃 said the
insuppressible servant…woman。 〃We s'll be churnin' to…morrow
mornin' first thing。〃
〃Yes〃……the long…drawn foreign yes……〃yes；〃 said the
Polish woman； 〃I