moon and stars in one。
She fretted； however； at last； over the lack of stability。
When the perfect hours came back； her heart did not forget that
they would pass away again。 She was uneasy。 The surety； the
surety； the inner surety； the confidence in the abidingness of
love： that was what she wanted。 And that she did not get。 She
knew also that he had not got it。
Nevertheless it was a marvellous world； she was for the most
part lost in the marvellousness of it。 Even her great woes were
marvellous to her。
She could be very happy。 And she wanted to be happy。 She
resented it when he made her unhappy。 Then she could kill him；
cast him out。 Many days； she waited for the hour when he would
be gone to work。 Then the flow of her life； which he seemed to
damn up； was let loose； and she was free。 She was free； she was
full of delight。 Everything delighted her。 She took up the rug
and went to shake it in the garden。 Patches of snow were on the
fields； the air was light。 She heard the ducks shouting on the
pond； she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they
were setting off on an invasion of the world。 She watched the
rough horses； one of which was clipped smooth on the belly； so
that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur； stand
kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church…yard
wall。 Everything delighted her； now he was gone； the insulator；
the obstruction removed； the world was all hers； in connection
with her。
She was joyfully active。 Nothing pleased her more than to
hang out the washing in a high wind that came full…butt over the
round of the hill； tearing the wet garments out of her hands；
making flap…flap…flap of the waving stuff。 She laughed and
struggled and grew angry。 But she loved her solitary days。
Then he came home at night； and she knitted her brows because
of some endless contest between them。 As he stood in the doorway
her heart changed。 It steeled itself。 The laughter and zest of
the day disappeared from her。 She was stiffened。
They fought an unknown battle； unconsciously。 Still they were
in love with each other； the passion was there。 But the passion
was consumed in a battle。 And the deep； fierce unnamed battle
went on。 Everything glowed intensely about them； the world had
put off its clothes and was awful； with new； primal
nakedness。
Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him。
Half she loved it。 She was being more like him。 All the
week…days； there was a glint of sky and fields； the little
church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning
through。 But on Sundays； when he stayed at home； a
deeply…coloured； intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of
the earth； the church seemed to fill itself with shadow； to
bee big； a universe to her； there was a burning of blue and
ruby； a sound of worship about her。 And when the doors were
opened； and she came out into the world； it was a world
new……created； she stepped into the resurrection of the
world； her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the
Passion。
If； as very often； they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays；
then she regained another； lighter world； that had never known
the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting。 Her
husband was obliterated； she was with her father again； who was
so fresh and free and all daylight。 Her husband； with his
intensity and his darkness； was obliterated。 She left him； she
forgot him； she accepted her father。
Yet； as she went home again with the young man； she put her
hand on his arm tentatively； a little bit ashamed； her hand
pleaded that he would not hold it against her； her recusancy。
But he was obscured。 He seemed to bee blind； as if he were
not there with her。
Then she was afraid。 She wanted him。 When he was oblivious of
her； she almost went mad with fear。 For she had bee so
vulnerable； so exposed。 She was in touch so intimately。 All
things about her had bee intimate； she had known them near
and lovely； like presences hovering upon her。 What if they
should all go hard and separate again； standing back from her
terrible and distinct； and she； having known them； should be at
their mercy？
This frightened her。 Always； her husband was to her the
unknown to which she was delivered up。 She was a flower that has
been tempted forth into blossom； and has no retreat。 He had her
nakedness in his power。 And who was he； what was he？ A blind
thing； a dark force； without knowledge。 She wanted to preserve
herself。
Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for
a moment。 But as time went on； she began to realize more and
more that he did not alter； that he was something dark； alien to
herself。 She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself。
As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark
opposite to her； that they were opposites； not plements。
He did not alter； he remained separately himself； and he
seemed to expect her to be part of himself； the extension of his
will。 She felt him trying to gain power over her； without
knowing her。 What did he want？ Was he going to bully her？
What did she want herself？ She answered herself； that she
wanted to be happy； to be natural； like the sunlight and the
busy daytime。 And； at the bottom of her soul； she felt he wanted
her to be dark； unnatural。 Sometimes； when he seemed like the
darkness covering and smothering her； she revolted almost in
horror； and struck at him。 She struck at him； and made him
bleed； and he became wicked。 Because she dreaded him and held
him in horror； he became wicked； he wanted to destroy。 And then
the fight between them was cruel。
She began to tremble。 He wanted to impose himself on her。 And
he began to shudder。 She wanted to desert him； to leave him a
prey to the open； with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting
on to devour him。 He must beat her； and make her stay with him。
Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him。
They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood；
feeling the world far off； unable to give help。 Till she began
to get tired。 After a certain point； she became impassive；
detached utterly from him。 He was always ready to burst out
murderously against her。 Her soul got up and left him； she went
her way。 Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness； that made his
soul black with opposition； she trembled as if she bled。
And ever and again； the pure love came in sunbeams between
them； when she was like a flower in the sun to him； so
beautiful； so shining； so intensely dear that he could scarcely
bear it。 Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood
absorbed in praise； feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat
through him like a pulse； as he stood in the upright flame of
praise； transmitting the pulse of Creation。
And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of
power。 Sometimes； when he stood in the doorway； his face lit up；
he seemed like an Annunciation to her； her heart beat fast。 And
she watched him； suspended。 He had a dark； burning being that
she dreaded and resisted。 She was subject to him as to the Angel
of the Presence。 She waited upon him and heard his will； and she
trembled in his service。
Then all this passed away。 Then he loved her for her
childishness and for her strangeness to him； for the wonder of
her soul which was different from his soul； and which made him
genuine when he would be false。 And she loved him for the way he
sat loosely in a chair； or for the way he came through a door
with his face open and eager。 She loved his ringing； eager
voice； and the touch of the unknown about him； his absolute
simplicity。
Yet neither of them was quite satisfied。 He felt； somewhere；
that she did not respect him。 She only respected him as far as
he was related to herself。 For what he was； beyond her； she had
no care。 She did not care for what he represented in himself。 It
is true； he did not know himself what he represented。 But
whatever it was she did not really honour it。 She did no service
to his work as a lace…designer； nor to himself as bread…winner。
Because he went down to the office and worked every
day……that entitled him to no respect or regard from her； he