wistful he seemed。 Her eyes grew childlike and puzzled。 Puzzled
from day to day she went on； helpless； carried along by all that
must happen。
He went about at his duties； giving himself up to them。 At
the bottom of his heart his self； the soul that aspired and had
true hope of self…effectuation lay as dead； still…born； a dead
weight in his womb。 Who was he； to hold important his personal
connection？ What did a man matter personally？ He was just a
brick in the whole great social fabric； the nation； the modern
humanity。 His personal movements were small； and entirely
subsidiary。 The whole form must be ensured； not ruptured； for
any personal reason whatsoever； since no personal reason could
justify such a breaking。 What did personal intimacy matter？ One
had to fill one's place in the whole； the great scheme of man's
elaborate civilization； that was all。 The Whole
mattered……but the unit； the person； had no importance；
except as he represented the Whole。
So Skrebensky left the girl out and went his way； serving
what he had to serve； and enduring what he had to endure；
without remark。 To his own intrinsic life； he was dead。 And he
could not rise again from the dead。 His soul lay in the tomb。
His life lay in the established order of things。 He had his five
senses too。 They were to be gratified。 Apart from this； he
represented the great； established； extant Idea of life； and as
this he was important and beyond question。
The good of the greatest number was all that mattered。 That
which was the greatest good for them all； collectively； was the
greatest good for the individual。 And so； every man must give
himself to support the state； and so labour for the greatest
good of all。 One might make improvements in the state； perhaps；
but always with a view to preserving it intact。
No highest good of the munity； however； would give him the
vital fulfilment of his soul。 He knew this。 But he did not
consider the soul of the individual sufficiently important。 He
believed a man was important in so far as he represented all
humanity。
He could not see； it was not born in him to see； that the
highest good of the munity as it stands is no longer the
highest good of even the average individual。 He thought that；
because the munity represents millions of people； therefore
it must be millions of times more important than any individual；
forgetting that the munity is an abstraction from the many；
and is not the many themselves。 Now when the statement of the
abstract good for the munity has bee a formula lacking in
all inspiration or value to the average intelligence； then the
〃mon good〃 bees a general nuisance； representing the
vulgar； conservative materialism at a low level。
And by the highest good of the greatest number is chiefly
meant the material prosperity of all classes。 Skrebensky did not
really care about his own material prosperity。 If he had been
penniless……well； he would have taken his chances。 Therefore
how could he find his highest good in giving up his life for the
material prosperity of everybody else！ What he considered an
unimportant thing for himself he could not think worthy of every
sacrifice on behalf of other people。 And that which he would
consider of the deepest importance to himself as an
individual……oh； he said； you mustn't consider the munity
from that standpoint。 No……no……we know what the
munity wants； it wants something solid； it wants good wages；
equal opportunities； good conditions of living； that's what the
munity wants。 It doesn't want anything subtle or difficult。
Duty is very plain…keep in mind the material； the immediate
welfare of every man； that's all。
So there came over Skrebensky a sort of nullity； which more
and more terrified Ursula。 She felt there was something hopeless
which she had to submit to。 She felt a great sense of disaster
impending。 Day after day was made inert with a sense of
disaster。 She became morbidly sensitive； depressed；
apprehensive。 It was anguish to her when she saw one rook slowly
flapping in the sky。 That was a sign of ill…omen。 And the
foreboding became so black and so powerful in her； that she was
almost extinguished。
Yet what was the matter？ At the worst he was only going away。
Why did she mind； what was it she feared？ She did not know。 Only
she had a black dread possessing her。 When she went at night and
saw the big； flashing stars they seemed terrible； by day she was
always expecting some charge to be made against her。
He wrote in March to say that he was going to South Africa in
a short time； but before he went； he would snatch a day at the
Marsh。
As if in a painful dream； she waited suspended； unresolved。
She did not know； she could not understand。 Only she felt that
all the threads of her fate were being held taut； in suspense。
She only wept sometimes as she went about； saying blindly：
〃I am so fond of him； I am so fond of him。〃
He came。 But why did he e？ She looked at him for a sign。
He gave no sign。 He did not even kiss her。 He behaved as if he
were an affable； usual acquaintance。 This was superficial； but
what did it hide？ She waited for him； she wanted him to make
some sign。
So the whole of the day they wavered and avoided contact；
until evening。 Then； laughing； saying he would be back in six
months' time and would tell them all about it； he shook hands
with her mother and took his leave。
Ursula acpanied him into the lane。 The night was windy；
the yew trees seethed and hissed and vibrated。 The wind seemed
to rush about among the chimneys and the church…tower。 It was
dark。
The wind blew Ursula's face； and her clothes cleaved to her
limbs。 But it was a surging； turgid wind； instinct with
pressed vigour of life。 And she seemed to have lost
Skrebensky。 Out there in the strong； urgent night she could not
find him。
〃Where are you？〃 she asked。
〃Here；〃 came his bodiless voice。
And groping； she touched him。 A fire like lightning drenched
them。
〃Anton？〃 she said。
〃What？〃 he answered。
She held him with her hands in the darkness； she felt his
body again with hers。
〃Don't leave me……e back to me；〃 she said。
〃Yes；〃 he said； holding her in his arms。
But the male in him was scotched by the knowledge that she
was not under his spell nor his influence。 He wanted to go away
from her。 He rested in the knowledge that to…morrow he was going
away； his life was really elsewhere。 His life was
elsewhere……his life was elsewhere……the centre of his
life was not what she would have。 She was different……there
was a breach between them。 They were hostile worlds。
〃You will e back to me？〃 she reiterated。
〃Yes；〃 he said。 And he meant it。 But as one keeps an
appointment； not as a man returning to his fulfilment。
So she kissed him； and went indoors； lost。 He walked down to
the Marsh abstracted。 The contact with her hurt him； and
threatened him。 He shrank； he had to be free of her spirit。 For
she would stand before him； like the angel before Balaam； and
drive him back with a sword from the way he was going； into a
wilderness。
The next day she went to the station to see him go。 She
looked at him； she turned to him； but he was always so strange
and null……so null。 He was so collected。 She thought it was
that which made him null。 Strangely nothing he was。
Ursula stood near him with a mute； pale face which he would
rather not see。 There seemed some shame at the very root of
life； cold； dead shame for her。
The three made a noticeable group on the station； the girl in
her fur cap and tippet and her olive green costume； pale； tense
with youth； isolated； unyielding； the soldierly young man in a
crush hat and a heavy overcoat； his face rather pale and
reserved above his purple scarf； his whole figure neutral； then
the elder man； a fashionable bowler hat pressed low over his
dark brows； his face warm…coloured and calm； his whole figure
curiously suggestive of full…blooded indifference； he was the
eternal audience； the chorus； the spectator at the drama； in his
own life he would have no drama。
The train was rushing up。 Ursula's heart heaved； but the ice
was frozen too strong upon it。
〃Good…bye；〃 she said； lifting her hand； her face