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Was his life nothing？ Had he nothing to show； no work？ He did
not count his work； anybody could have done it。 What had he
known； but the long； marital embrace with his wife！ Curious；
that this was what his life amounted to！ At any rate； it was
something； it was eternal。 He would say so to anybody； and be
proud of it。 He lay with his wife in his arms； and she was still
his fulfilment； just the same as ever。 And that was the beall
and the endall。 Yes； and he was proud of it。
But the bitterness； underneath； that there still remained an
unsatisfied Tom Brangwen； who suffered agony because a girl
cared nothing for him。 He loved his sonshe had them also。
But it was the further； the creative life with the girl； he
wanted as well。 Oh； and he was ashamed。 He trampled himself to
extinguish himself。
What weariness！ There was no peace； however old one grew！ One
was never right； never decent； never master of oneself。 It was
as if his hope had been in the girl。
Anna quickly lapsed again into her love for the youth。 Will
Brangwen had fixed his marriage for the Saturday before
Christmas。 And he waited for her； in his bright； unquestioning
fashion； until then。 He wanted her； she was his； he suspended
his being till the day should e。 The wedding day； December
the twentythird； had e into being for him as an absolute
thing。 He lived in it。
He did not count the days。 But like a man who journeys in a
ship； he was suspended till the ing to port。
He worked at his carving； he worked in his office； he came to
see her； all was but a form of waiting； without thought or
question。
She was much more alive。 She wanted to enjoy courtship。 He
seemed to e and go like the wind； without asking why or
whither。 But she wanted to enjoy his presence。 For her； he was
the kernel of life； to touch him alone was bliss。 But for him；
she was the essence of life。 She existed as much when he was at
his carving in his lodging in Ilkeston； as when she sat looking
at him in the Marsh kitchen。 In himself； he knew her。 But his
outward faculties seemed suspended。 He did not see her with his
eyes； nor hear her with his voice。
And yet he trembled； sometimes into a kind of swoon； holding
her in his arms。 They would stand sometimes folded together in
the barn； in silence。 Then to her； as she felt his young； tense
figure with her hands； the bliss was intolerable； intolerable
the sense that she possessed him。 For his body was so keen and
wonderful； it was the only reality in her world。 In her world；
there was this one tense； vivid body of a man； and then many
other shadowy men； all unreal。 In him； she touched the centre of
reality。 And they were together； he and she； at the heart of the
secret。 How she clutched him to her； his body the central body
of all life。 Out of the rock of his form the very fountain of
life flowed。
But to him； she was a flame that consumed him。 The flame
flowed up his limbs； flowed through him； till he was consumed；
till he existed only as an unconscious； dark transit of flame；
deriving from her。
Sometimes； in the darkness； a cow coughed。 There was； in the
darkness； a slow sound of cud chewing。 And it all seemed to flow
round them and upon them as the hot blood flows through the
womb； laving the unborn young。
Sometimes； when it was cold； they stood to be lovers in the
stables； where the air was warm and sharp with ammonia。 And
during these dark vigils； he learned to know her； her body
against his； they drew nearer and nearer together； the kisses
came more subtly close and fitting。 So when in the thick
darkness a horse suddenly scrambled to its feet； with a dull；
thunderous sound； they listened as one person listening； they
knew as one person； they were conscious of the horse。
Tom Brangwen had taken them a cottage at Cossethay； on a
twentyone years' lease。 Will Brangwen's eyes lit up as he saw
it。 It was the cottage next the church； with dark yewtrees；
very black old trees； along the side of the house and the grassy
front garden； a red； squarish cottage with a low slate roof； and
low windows。 It had a long dairyscullery； a big flagged
kitchen； and a low parlour； that went up one step from the
kitchen。 There were whitewashed beams across the ceilings； and
odd corners with cupboards。 Looking out through the windows；
there was the grassy garden； the procession of black yew trees
down one side； and along the other sides； a red wall with ivy
separating the place from the highroad and the churchyard。 The
old； little church； with its small spire on a square tower；
seemed to be looking back at the cottage windows。
〃There'll be no need to have a clock；〃 said Will Brangwen；
peeping out at the white clockface on the tower； his
neighbour。
At the back of the house was a garden adjoining the paddock；
a cowshed with standing for two cows； pigcotes and fowlhouses。
Will Brangwen was very happy。 Anna was glad to think of being
mistress of her own place。
Tom Brangwen was now the fairy godfather。 He was never happy
unless he was buying something。 Will Brangwen； with his interest
in all woodwork； was getting the furniture。 He was left to buy
tables and roundstaved chairs and the dressers； quite ordinary
stuff； but such as was identified with his cottage。
Tom Brangwen； with more particular thought； spied out what he
called handy little things for her。 He appeared with a set of
newfangled cookingpans； with a special sort of hanging lamp；
though the rooms were so low； with canny little machines for
grinding meat or mashing potatoes or whisking eggs。
Anna took a sharp interest in what he bought； though she was
not always pleased。 Some of the little contrivances； which he
thought so canny； left her doubtful。 Nevertheless she was always
expectant； on market days there was always a long thrill of
anticipation。 He arrived with the first darkness； the copper
lamps of his cart glowing。 And she ran to the gate； as he； a
dark； burly figure up in the cart； was bending over his
parcels。
〃It's cupboard love as brings you out so sharp；〃 he said； his
voice resounding in the cold darkness。 Nevertheless he was
excited。 And she； taking one of the cart lamps； poked and peered
among the jumble of things he had brought； pushing aside the oil
or implements he had got for himself。
She dragged out a pair of small； strong bellows； registered
them in her mind； and then pulled uncertainly at something else。
It had a long handle； and a piece of brown paper round the
middle of it； like a waistcoat。
〃What's this？〃 she said； poking。
He stopped to look at her。 She went to the lamplight by the
horse； and stood there bent over the new thing； while her hair
was like bronze； her apron white and cheerful。 Her fingers
plucked busily at the paper。 She dragged forth a little wringer；
with clean indiarubber rollers。 She examined it critically； not
knowing quite how it worked。
She looked up at him。 He stood a shadowy presence beyond the
light。
〃How does it go？〃 she asked。
〃Why； it's for pulpin' turnips；〃 he replied。
She looked at him。 His voice disturbed her。
〃Don't be silly。 It's a little mangle；〃 she said。 〃How do you
stand it； though？〃
〃You screw it on th' side o' your washtub。〃 He came and held
it out to her。
〃Oh； yes！〃 she cried； with one of her little skipping
movements； which still came when she was suddenly glad。
And without another thought she ran off into the house；
leaving him to untackle the horse。 And when he came into the
scullery； he found her there； with the little wringer fixed on
the dollytub； turning blissfully at the handle； and Tilly
beside her； exclaiming：
〃My word； that's a natty little thing！ That'll save you
luggin' your inside out。 That's the latest contraption； that
is。〃
And Anna turned away at the handle； with great gusto of
possession。 Then she let Tilly have a turn。
〃It fair runs by itself；〃 said Tilly； turning on and on。
〃Your clothes'll nip out on to th' line。〃
CHAPTER V
WEDDING AT THE MARSH
It was a beautiful sunny day for the wedding； a muddy earth
but a bright sky。 They had three cabs and two big closedin
vehicles。 Everybody crowded in the parlour in excitement。 Anna
was still upsta