beaten。 He drank to get drunk。 He gulped down the brandy； and
more brandy； till his face became pale； his eyes burning。 And
still he could not get free。 He went to sleep in drunken
unconsciousness； woke up at four o'clock in the morning and
continued drinking。 He would get free。 Gradually the
tension in him began to relax。 He began to feel happy。 His
riveted silence was unfastened； he began to talk and babble。 He
was happy and at one with all the world； he was united with all
flesh in a hot blood…relationship。 So； after three days of
incessant brandy…drinking； he had burned out the youth from his
blood； he had achieved this kindled state of oneness with all
the world； which is the end of youth's most passionate desire。
But he had achieved his satisfaction by obliterating his own
individuality； that which it depended on his manhood to preserve
and develop。
So he became a bout…drinker； having at intervals these bouts
of three or four days of brandy…drinking； when he was drunk for
the whole time。 He did not think about it。 A deep resentment
burned in him。 He kept aloof from any women； antagonistic。
When he was twenty…eight； a thick…limbed； stiff； fair man
with fresh plexion； and blue eyes staring very straight
ahead； he was ing one day down from Cossethay with a load of
seed out of Nottingham。 It was a time when he was getting ready
for another bout of drinking； so he stared fixedly before him；
watchful yet absorbed； seeing everything and aware of nothing；
coiled in himself。 It was early in the year。
He walked steadily beside the horse； the load clanked behind
as the hill descended steeper。 The road curved down…hill before
him； under banks and hedges； seen only for a few yards
ahead。
Slowly turning the curve at the steepest part of the slope；
his horse britching between the shafts； he saw a woman
approaching。 But he was thinking for the moment of the
horse。
Then he turned to look at her。 She was dressed in black； was
apparently rather small and slight； beneath her long black
cloak； and she wore a black bonnet。 She walked hastily； as if
unseeing； her head rather forward。 It was her curious； absorbed；
flitting motion； as if she were passing unseen by everybody；
that first arrested him。
She had heard the cart； and looked up。 Her face was pale and
clear； she had thick dark eyebrows and a wide mouth； curiously
held。 He saw her face clearly； as if by a light in the air。 He
saw her face so distinctly； that he ceased to coil on himself；
and was suspended。
〃That's her；〃 he said involuntarily。 As the cart passed by；
splashing through the thin mud； she stood back against the bank。
Then； as he walked still beside his britching horse； his eyes
met hers。 He looked quickly away； pressing back his head； a pain
of joy running through him。 He could not bear to think of
anything。
He turned round at the last moment。 He saw her bonnet； her
shape in the black cloak； the movement as she walked。 Then she
was gone round the bend。
She had passed by。 He felt as if he were walking again in a
far world； not Cossethay； a far world； the fragile reality。 He
went on； quiet； suspended； rarefied。 He could not bear to think
or to speak； nor make any sound or sign； nor change his fixed
motion。 He could scarcely bear to think of her face。 He moved
within the knowledge of her； in the world that was beyond
reality。
The feeling that they had exchanged recognition possessed him
like a madness； like a torment。 How could he be sure； what
confirmation had he？ The doubt was like a sense of infinite
space； a nothingness； annihilating。 He kept within his breast
the will to surety。 They had exchanged recognition。
He walked about in this state for the next few days。 And then
again like a mist it began to break to let through the mon；
barren world。 He was very gentle with man and beast； but he
dreaded the starkness of disillusion cropping through again。
As he was standing with his back to the fire after dinner a
few days later； he saw the woman passing。 He wanted to know that
she knew him； that she was aware。 He wanted it said that there
was something between them。 So he stood anxiously watching；
looking at her as she went down the road。 He called to
Tilly。
〃Who might that be？〃 he asked。
Tilly； the cross…eyed woman of forty； who adored him； ran
gladly to the window to look。 She was glad when he asked her for
anything。 She craned her head over the short curtain； the little
tight knob of her black hair sticking out pathetically as she
bobbed about。
〃Oh why〃……she lifted her head and peered with her
twisted； keen brown eyes……〃why； you know who it
is……it's her from th' vicarage……you know……〃
〃How do I know； you hen…bird；〃 he shouted。
Tilly blushed and drew her neck in and looked at him with her
squinting； sharp； almost reproachful look。
〃Why you do……it's the new housekeeper。〃
〃Ay……an' what by that？〃
〃Well； an' what by that？〃 rejoined the indignant
Tilly。
〃She's a woman； isn't she； housekeeper or no housekeeper？
She's got more to her than that！ Who is she……she's got a
name？〃
〃Well； if she has； I don't know；〃 retorted Tilly； not
to be badgered by this lad who had grown up into a man。
〃What's her name？〃 he asked； more gently。
〃I'm sure I couldn't tell you；〃 replied Tilly； on her
dignity。
〃An' is that all as you've gathered； as she's housekeeping at
the vicarage？〃
〃I've 'eered mention of 'er name； but I couldn't remember it
for my life。〃
〃Why； yer riddle…skulled woman o' nonsense； what have you got
a head for？〃
〃For what other folks 'as got theirs for；〃 retorted Tilly；
who loved nothing more than these tilts when he would call her
names。
There was a lull。
〃I don't believe as anybody could keep it in their head；〃 the
woman…servant continued； tentatively。
〃What？〃 he asked。
〃Why； 'er name。〃
〃How's that？〃
〃She's fra some foreign parts or other。〃
〃Who told you that？〃
〃That's all I do know； as she is。〃
〃An' wheer do you reckon she's from； then？〃
〃I don't know。 They do say as she hails fra th' Pole。 I don't
know；〃 Tilly hastened to add； knowing he would attack her。
〃Fra th' Pole； why do you hail fra th' Pole？ Who set
up that menagerie confabulation？〃
〃That's what they say……I don't know〃
〃Who says？〃
〃Mrs。 Bentley says as she's fra th' Pole……else she is a
Pole； or summat。〃
Tilly was only afraid she was landing herself deeper now。
〃Who says she's a Pole？〃
〃They all say so。〃
〃Then what's brought her to these parts？〃
〃I couldn't tell you。 She's got a little girl with her。〃
〃Got a little girl with her？〃
〃Of three or four； with a head like a fuzz…ball。〃
〃Black？〃
〃White……fair as can be； an' all of a fuzz。〃
〃Is there a father； then？〃
〃Not to my knowledge。 I don't know。〃
〃What brought her here？〃
〃I couldn't say； without th' vicar axed her。〃
〃Is the child her child？〃
〃I s'd think so……they say so。〃
〃Who told you about her？〃
〃Why； Lizzie……a…Monday……we seed her goin'
past。〃
〃You'd have to be rattling your tongues if anything went
past。〃
Brangwen stood musing。 That evening he went up to Cossethay
to the 〃Red Lion〃； half with the intention of hearing more。
She was the widow of a Polish doctor； he gathered。 Her
husband had died； a refugee； in London。 She spoke a bit
foreign…like； but you could easily make out what she said。 She
had one little girl named Anna。 Lensky was the woman's name；
Mrs。 Lensky。
Brangwen felt that here was the unreality established at
last。 He felt also a curious certainty about her； as if she were
destined to him。 It was to him a profound satisfaction that she
was a foreigner。
A swift change had taken place on the earth for him； as if a
new creation were fulfilled； in which he had real existence。
Things had all been stark； unreal； barren； mere nullities
before。 Now they were actualities that he could handle。
He dared scarcely think of the woman。 He was afraid。 Only all
the time he was aware of her presence not far off； he lived in
her。 But he dared not knoself with her
by thinking of her。
One day he met her walking along the road with her little
girl。 It was a child with a face like a bud of apple…blossom