按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
hair。 He turned and looked at her； at her face clean as a
chiselled thing； her hair chiselled back by the wind； her fine
nose keen and lifted。
It was agony to him； seeing her swift and cleancut and
virgin。 He wanted to kill himself； and throw his detested
carcase at her feet。 His desire to turn round on himself and
rend himself was an agony to him。
Suddenly she glanced at him。 He seemed to be crouching
towards her； reaching； he seemed to wince between the brows。 But
instantly； seeing her lighted eyes and radiant face； his
expression changed； his old reckless laugh shone to her。 She
pressed his hand in utter delight； and he abided。 And suddenly
she stooped and kissed his hand； bent her head and caught it to
her mouth； in generous homage。 And the blood burned in him。 Yet
he remained still； he made no move。
She started。 They were swinging into Cossethay。 Skrebensky
was going to leave her。 But it was all so magic； her cup was so
full of bright wine； her eyes could only shine。
He tapped and spoke to the man。 The car swung up by the yew
trees。 She gave him her hand and said goodbye； naive and brief
as a schoolgirl。 And she stood watching him go； her face
shining。 The fact of his driving on meant nothing to her； she
was so filled by her own bright ecstacy。 She did not see him go；
for she was filled with light； which was of him。 Bright with an
amazing light as she was； how could she miss him。
In her bedroom she threw her arms in the air in clear pain of
magnificence。 Oh； it was her transfiguration； she was beyond
herself。 She wanted to fling herself into all the hidden
brightness of the air。 It was there； it was there； if she could
but meet it。
But the next day she knew he had gone。 Her glory had partly
died downbut never from her memory。 It was too real。 Yet
it was gone by； leaving a wistfulness。 A deeper yearning came
into her soul； a new reserve。
She shrank from touch and question。 She was very proud； but
very new； and very sensitive。 Oh； that no one should lay hands
on her！
She was happier running on by herself。 Oh； it was a joy to
run along the lanes without seeing things； yet being with them。
It was such a joy to be alone with all one's riches。
The holidays came； when she was free。 She spent most of her
time running on by herself； curled up in a squirrelplace in the
garden； lying in a hammock in the coppice； while the birds came
nearnearso near。 Oh； in rainy weather； she flitted
to the Marsh； and lay hidden with her book in a hayloft。
All the time； she dreamed of him； sometimes definitely； but
when she was happiest； only vaguely。 He was the warm colouring
of her dreams； he was the hot blood beating within them。
When she was less happy； out of sorts； she pondered over his
appearance； his clothes； the buttons with his regimental badge；
which he had given her。 Or she tried to imagine his life in
barracks。 Or she conjured up a vision of herself as she appeared
in his eyes。
His birthday was in August； and she spent some pains on
making him a cake。 She felt that it would not be in good taste
for her to give him a present。
Their correspondence was brief； mostly an exchange of
postcards； not at all frequent。 But with her cake she must send
him a letter。
〃Dear Anton。 The sunshine has e back specially for your
birthday； I think。 I made the cake myself； and wish you many
happy returns of the day。 Don't eat it if it is not good。 Mother
hopes you will e and see us when you are near enough。
〃I am
〃Your Sincere Friend；
〃Ursula Brangwen。〃
It bored her to write a letter even to him。 After all；
writing words on paper had nothing to do with him and her。
The fine weather had set in； the cutting machine went on from
dawn till sunset； chattering round the fields。 She heard from
Skrebensky； he too was on duty in the country； on Salisbury
Plain。 He was now a second lieutenant in a Field Troop。 He would
have a few days off shortly； and would e to the Marsh for the
wedding。
Fred Brangwen was going to marry a schoolmistress out of
Ilkeston as soon as cornharvest was at an end。
The dim blueandgold of a hot； sweet autumn saw the close of
the cornharvest。 To Ursula； it was as if the world had opened
its softest purest flower； its chicory flower； its meadow
saffron。 The sky was blue and sweet； the yellow leaves down the
lane seemed like free； wandering flowers as they chittered round
the feet； making a keen； poignant； almost unbearable music to
her heart。 And the scents of autumn were like a summer madness
to her。 She fled away from the little； purplered
buttonchrysanthemums like a frightened dryad； the bright yellow
little chrysanthemums smelled so strong； her feet seemed to
dither in a drunken dance。
Then her Uncle Tom appeared； always like the cynical Bacchus
in the picture。 He would have a jolly wedding； a harvest supper
and a wedding feast in one： a tent in the home close； and a band
for dancing； and a great feast out of doors。
Fred demurred； but Tom must be satisfied。 Also Laura； a
handsome； clever girl； the bride； she also must have a great and
jolly feast。 It appealed to her educated sense。 She had been to
Salisbury Training College； knew folksongs and
morrisdancing。
So the preparations were begun； directed by Tom Brangwen。 A
marquee was set up on the home close； two large bonfires were
prepared。 Musicians were hired； feast made ready。
Skrebensky was to e； arriving in the morning。 Ursula had a
new white dress of soft crepe； and a white hat。 She liked to
wear white。 With her black hair and clear golden skin； she
looked southern； or rather tropical； like a Creole。 She wore no
colour whatsoever。
She trembled that day as she appeared to go down to the
wedding。 She was to be a bridesmaid。 Skrebensky would not arrive
till afternoon。 The wedding was at two o'clock。
As the weddingparty returned home； Skrebensky stood in the
parlour at the Marsh。 Through the window he saw Tom Brangwen；
who was best man； ing up the garden path most elegant in
cutaway coat and white slip and spats； with Ursula laughing on
his arm。 Tom Brangwen was handsome； with his womanish colouring
and dark eyes and black closecut moustache。 But there was
something subtly coarse and suggestive about him for all his
beauty； his strange； bestial nostrils opened so hard and wide；
and his wellshaped head almost disquieting in its nakedness；
rather bald from the front； and all its soft fulness
betrayed。
Skrebensky saw the man rather than the woman。 She saw only
the slender； unchangeable youth waiting there inscrutable； like
her fate。 He was beyond her； with his loose； slightly horsey
appearance； that made him seem very manly and foreign。 Yet his
face was smooth and soft and impressionable。 She shook hands
with him； and her voice was like the rousing of a bird startled
by the dawn。
〃Isn't it nice；〃 she cried； 〃to have a wedding？〃
There were bits of coloured confetti lodged on her dark
hair。
Again the confusion came over him； as if he were losing
himself and being all vague； undefined； inchoate。 Yet he
wanted to be hard； manly； horsey。 And he followed her。
There was a light tea； and the guests scattered。 The real
feast was for the evening。 Ursula walked out with Skrebensky
through the stackyard to the fields； and up the embankment to
the canalside。
The new cornstacks were big and golden as they went by； an
army of white geese marched aside in braggart protest。 Ursula
was light as a white ball of down。 Skrebensky drifted beside
her； indefinite； his old from loosened； and another self； grey；
vague； drifting out as from a bud。 They talked lightly； of
nothing。
The blue way of the canal wound softly between the autumn
hedges； on towards the greenness of a small hill。 On the left
was the whole black agitation of colliery and railway and the
town which rose on its hill； the church tower topping all。 The
round white dot of the clock on the tower was distinct in the
evening light。
That way； Ursula felt； was the way to London； through the
grim； alluring seethe of the town。 On the other hand was the
evening； mellow over the green watermeadows and the winding
alder trees beside the river； and the pal