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underneath a great oak； a doe all dappled lay with her four fine
feet together； her fawn nestling suncoloured beside her。
Oh； and this doe was her familiar。 It would talk to her；
because she was a magician； it would tell her stories as if the
sunshine spoke。
Then one day； she left the door of the parish room unlocked；
careless and unheeding as she always was； the children found
their way in； Katie cut her finger and howled； Billy hacked
notches in the fine chisels； and did much damage。 There was a
great motion。
The crossness of the mother was soon finished。 Ursula locked
up the room again； and considered all was over。 Then her father
came in with the notched tools； his forehead knotted。
〃Who the deuce opened the door？〃 he cried in anger。
〃It was Ursula who opened the door；〃 said her mother。 He had
a duster in his hand。 He turned and flapped the cloth hard
across the girl's face。 The cloth stung； for a moment the girl
was as if stunned。 Then she remained motionless； her face closed
and stubborn。 But her heart was blazing。 In spite of herself the
tears surged higher； in spite of her they surged higher。
In spite of her； her face broke； she made a curious gulping
grimace； and the tears were falling。 So she went away； desolate。
But her blazing heart was fierce and unyielding。 He watched her
go； and a pleasurable pain filled him； a sense of triumph and
easy power； followed immediately by acute pity。
〃I'm sure that was unnecessaryto hit the girl across
the face；〃 said the mother coldly。
〃A flip with the duster won't hurt her；〃 he said。
〃Nor will it do her any good。〃
For days； for weeks； Ursula's heart burned from this rebuff。
She felt so cruelly vulnerable。 Did he not know how vulnerable
she was； how exposed and wincing？ He； of all people； knew。 And
he wanted to do this to her。 He wanted to hurt her right through
her closest sensitiveness； he wanted to treat her with shame； to
maim her with insult。
Her heart burnt in isolation； like a watchfire lighted。 She
did not fet； she did not fet； she never fot。 When she
returned to her love for her father； the seed of mistrust and
defiance burned unquenched； though covered up far from sight。
She no longer belonged to him unquestioned。 Slowly； slowly； the
fire of mistrust and defiance burned in her； burned away her
connection with him。
She ran a good deal alone； having a passion for all moving；
active things。 She loved the little brooks。 Wherever she found a
little running water； she was happy。 It seemed to make her run
and sing in spirit along with it。 She could sit for hours by a
brook or stream； on the roots of the alders； and watch the water
hasten dancing over the stones； or among the twigs of a fallen
branch。 Sometimes； little fish vanished before they had bee
real； like hallucinations； sometimes wagtails ran by the water's
brink； sometimes other little birds came to drink。 She saw a
kingfisher darting blueand then she was very happy。 The
kingfisher was the key to the magic world： he was witness of the
border of enchantment。
But she must move out of the intricately woven illusion of
her life： the illusion of a father whose life was an Odyssey in
an outer world； the illusion of her grandmother； of realities so
shadowy and faroff that they became as mystic
symbols：peasantgirls with wreaths of blue flowers in
their hair； the sledges and the depths of winter； the
darkbearded young grandfather； marriage and war and death； then
the multitude of illusions concerning herself； how she was truly
a princess of Poland； how in England she was under a spell； she
was not really this Ursula Brangwen； then the mirage of her
reading： out of the multicoloured illusion of this her life； she
must move on； to the Grammar School in Nottingham。
She was shy； and she suffered。 For one thing； she bit her
nails； and had a cruel consciousness in her fingertips； a
shame； an exposure。 Out of all proportion； this shame haunted
her。 She spent hours of torture； conjuring how she might keep
her gloves on： if she might say her hands were scalded； if she
might seem to fet to take off her gloves。
For she was going to inherit her own estate； when she went to
the High School。 There； each girl was a lady。 There； she was
going to walk among free souls； her comates and her equals； and
all petty things would be put away。 Ah； if only she did not bite
her nails！ If only she had not this blemish！ She wanted so much
to be perfectwithout spot or blemish； living the high；
noble life。
It was a grief to her that her father made such a poor
introduction。 He was brief as ever； like a boy saying his
errand； and his clothes looked illfitting and casual。 Whereas
Ursula would have liked robes and a ceremonial of introduction
to this； her new estate。
She made a new illusion of school。 Miss Grey； the
headmistress； had a certain silvery； schoolmistressy beauty of
character。 The school itself had been a gentleman's house。 Dark；
sombre lawns separated it from the dark； select avenue。 But its
rooms were large and of good appearance； and from the back； one
looked over lawns and shrubbery； over the trees and the grassy
slope of the Arboretum； to the town which heaped the hollow with
its roofs and cupolas and its shadows。
So Ursula seated herself upon the hill of learning； looking
down on the smoke and confusion and the manufacturing； engrossed
activity of the town。 She was happy。 Up here； in the Grammar
School； she fancied the air was finer； beyond the factory smoke。
She wanted to learn Latin and Greek and French and mathematics。
She trembled like a postulant when she wrote the Greek alphabet
for the first time。
She was upon another hillslope； whose summit she had not
scaled。 There was always the marvellous eagerness in her heart；
to climb and to see beyond。 A Latin verb was virgin soil to her：
she sniffed a new odour in it； it meant something； though she
did not know what it meant。 But she gathered it up： it was
significant。 When she knew that：
x2y2 （x ＋ y）（xy）
then she felt that she had grasped something； that she was
liberated into an intoxicating air； rare and unconditioned。 And
she was very glad as she wrote her French exercise：
〃J'AI DONNE LE PAIN A MON PETIT FRERE。〃
In all these things there was the sound of a bugle to her
heart； exhilarating； summoning her to perfect places。 She never
fot her brown 〃Longman's First French Grammar〃； nor her 〃Via
Latina〃 with its red edges； nor her little grey Algebra book。
There was always a magic in them。
At learning she was quick； intelligent； instinctive； but she
was not 〃thorough〃。 If a thing did not e to her
instinctively； she could not learn it。 And then； her mad rage of
loathing for all lessons； her bitter contempt of all teachers
and schoolmistresses； her recoil to a fierce； animal arrogance
made her detestable。
She was a free； unabateable animal； she declared in her
revolts： there was no law for her； nor any rule。 She existed for
herself alone。 Then ensued a long struggle with everybody； in
which she broke down at last； when she had run the full length
of her resistance； and sobbed her heart out； desolate； and
afterwards； in a chastened； washedout； bodiless state； she
received the understanding that would not e before； and went
her way sadder and wiser。
Ursula and Gudrun went to school together。 Gudrun was a shy；
quiet； wild creature； a thin slip of a thing hanging back from
notice or twisting past to disappear into her own world again。
She seemed to avoid all contact； instinctively； and pursued her
own intent way； pursuing halfformed fancies that had no
relation to anyone else。
She was not clever at all。 She thought Ursula clever enough
for two。 Ursula understood； so why should she； Gudrun； bother
herself？ The younger girl lived her religious； responsible life
in her sister； by proxy。 For herself； she was indifferent and
intent as a wild animal； and as irresponsible。
When she found herself at the bottom of the class； she
laughed； lazily； and was content； saying she was safe now。 She
did not mind her father's chagrin nor her mother's tinge of
mortification。
〃What do I pay for you to go to Nottingham for？〃 her fat