beautiful and dazzling； from the conception in her womb。 She
walked glorified； and the sound of the thrushes； of the trains
in the valley； of the far…off； faint noises of the town； were
her 〃Magnificat〃。
But he was struggling in silence。 It seemed as though there
were before him a solid wall of darkness that impeded him and
suffocated him and made him mad。 He wanted her to e to him；
to plete him； to stand before him so that his eyes did not；
should not meet the naked darkness。 Nothing mattered to him but
that she should e and plete him。 For he was ridden by the
awful sense of his own limitation。 It was as if he ended
unpleted； as yet uncreated on the darkness； and he wanted her
to e and liberate him into the whole。
But she was plete in herself； and he was ashamed of his
need； his helpless need of her。 His need； and his shame of need；
weighed on him like a madness。 Yet still he was quiet and
gentle； in reverence of her conception； and because she was with
child by him。
And she was happy in showers of sunshine。 She loved her
husband； as a presence； as a grateful condition。 But for the
moment her need was fulfilled； and now she wanted only to hold
her husband by the hand in sheer happiness； without taking
thought； only being glad。
He had various folios of reproductions； and among them a
cheap print from Fra Angelico's 〃Entry of the Blessed into
Paradise〃。 This filled Anna with bliss。 The beautiful； innocent
way in which the Blessed held each other by the hand as they
moved towards the radiance； the real； real； angelic melody； made
her weep with happiness。 The floweriness； the beams of light；
the linking of hands； was almost too much for her； too
innocent。
Day after day came shining through the door of Paradise； day
after day she entered into the brightness。 The child in her
shone till she herself was a beam of sunshine； and how lovely
was the sunshine that loitered and wandered out of doors； where
the catkins on the big hazel bushes at the end of the garden
hung in their shaken； floating aureole； where little fumes like
fire burst out from the black yew trees as a bird settled
clinging to the branches。 One day bluebells were along the
hedge…bottoms； then cowslips twinkled like manna； golden and
evanescent on the meadows。 She was full of a rich drowsiness and
loneliness。 How happy she was； how gorgeous it was to live： to
have known herself； her husband； the passion of love and
begetting； and to know that all this lived and waited and burned
on around her； a terrible purifying fire； through which she had
passed for once to e to this peace of golden radiance； when
she was with child； and innocent； and in love with her husband
and with all the many angels hand in hand。 She lifted her throat
to the breeze that came across the fields； and she felt it
handling her like sisters fondling her； she drank it in perfume
of cowslips and of apple…blossoms。
And in all the happiness a black shadow； shy； wild； a beast
of prey； roamed and vanished from sight； and like strands of
gossamer blown across her eyes； there was a dread for her。
She was afraid when he came home at night。 As yet； her fear
never spoke； the shadow never rushed upon her。 He was gentle；
humble； he kept himself withheld。 His hands were delicate upon
her； and she loved them。 But there ran through her the thrill；
crisp as pain； for she felt the darkness and other…world still
in his soft； sheathed hands。
But the summer drifted in with the silence of a miracle； she
was almost always alone。 All the while； went on the long； lovely
drowsiness； the maidenblush roses in the garden were all shed；
washed away in a pouring rain； summer drifted into autumn； and
the long； vague； golden days began to close。 Crimson clouds
fumed about the west； and as night came on； all the sky was
fuming and steaming； and the moon； far above the swiftness of
vapours； was white； bleared； the night was uneasy。 Suddenly the
moon would appear at a clear window in the sky； looking down
from far above； like a captive。 And Anna did not sleep。 There
was a strange； dark tension about her husband。
She became aware that he was trying to force his will upon
her； something； there was something he wanted； as he lay there
dark and tense。 And her soul sighed in weariness。
Everything was so vague and lovely； and he wanted to wake her
up to the hard； hostile reality。 She drew back in resistance。
Still he said nothing。 But she felt his power persisting on her；
till she became aware of the strain； she cried out against the
exhaustion。 He was forcing her； he was forcing her。 And she
wanted so much the joy and the vagueness and the innocence of
her pregnancy。 She did not want his bitter…corrosive love； she
did not want it poured into her； to burn her。 Why must she have
it？ Why； oh； why was he not content； contained？
She sat many hours by the window； in those days when he drove
her most with the black constraint of his will； and she watched
the rain falling on the yew trees。 She was not sad； only
wistful； blanched。 The child under her heart was a perpetual
warmth。 And she was sure。 The pressure was only upon her from
the outside； her soul had no stripes。
Yet in her heart itself was always this same strain； tense；
anxious。 She was not safe； she was always exposed； she was
always attacked。 There was a yearning in her for a fulness of
peace and blessedness。 What a heavy yearning it was……so
heavy。
She knew； vaguely； that all the time he was not satisfied；
all the time he was trying to force something from her。 Ah； how
she wished she could succeed with him； in her own way！ He was
there； so inevitable。 She lived in him also。 And how she wanted
to be at peace with him； at peace。 She loved him。 She would give
him love； pure love。 With a strange； rapt look in her face； she
awaited his homeing that night。
Then； when he came； she rose with her hands full of love； as
of flowers； radiant； innocent。 A dark spasm crossed his face。 As
she watched； her face shining and flower…like with innocent
love； his face grew dark and tense； the cruelty gathered in his
brows； his eyes turned aside； she saw the whites of his eyes as
he looked aside from her。 She waited； touching him with her
hands。 But from his body through her hands came the
bitter…corrosive shock of his passion upon her； destroying her
in blossom。 She shrank。 She rose from her knees and went away
from him； to preserve herself。 And it was great pain to her。
To him also it was agony。 He saw the glistening； flower…like
love in her face； and his heart was black because he did not
want it。 Not this……not this。 He did not want flowery
innocence。 He was unsatisfied。 The rage and storm of
unsatisfaction tormented him ceaselessly。 Why had she not
satisfied him？ He had satisfied her。 She was satisfied； at
peace； innocent round the doors of her own paradise。
And he was unsatisfied； unfulfilled； he raged in torment；
wanting； wanting。 It was for her to satisfy him： then let her do
it。 Let her not e with flowery handfuls of innocent love。 He
would throw these aside and trample the flowers to nothing。 He
would destroy her flowery； innocent bliss。 Was he not entitled
to satisfaction from her； and was not his heart all raging
desire； his soul a black torment of unfulfilment。 Let it be
fulfilled in him； then； as it was fulfilled in her。 He had given
her her fulfilment。 Let her rise up and do her part。
He was cruel to her。 But all the time he was ashamed。 And
being ashamed； he was more cruel。 For he was ashamed that he
could not e to fulfilment without her。 And he could not。 And
she would not heed him。 He was shackled and in darkness of
torment。
She beseeched him to work again； to do his wood…carving。 But
his soul was too black。 He had destroyed his panel of Adam and
Eve。 He could not begin again； least of all now； whilst he was
in this condition。
For her there was no final release； since he could not be
liberated from himself。 Strange and amorphous； she must go
yearning on through the trouble； like a warm； glowing cloud
blown in the middle of a storm。 She felt so rich； in her warm
vagueness； that her soul cried out on him； because he harried
her