across his gardenwall drew him； he gave it loving attention。
But he went to take charge of it； to preserve it。 It was as an
old； sacred thing to him。 He looked after the stone and
woodwork； mending the an and restoring a piece of broken
carving； repairing the church furniture。 Later； he became
choirmaster also。
His life was shifting its centre； being more superficial。
He had failed to bee really articulate； failed to find real
expression。 He had to continue in the old form。 But in spirit；
he was uncreated。
Anna was absorbed in the child now； she left her husband to
take his own way。 She was willing now to postpone all adventure
into unknown realities。 She had the child； her palpable and
immediate future was the child。 If her soul had found no
utterance； her womb had。
The church that neighboured with his house became very
intimate and dear to him。 He cherished it； he had it entirely in
his charge。 If he could find no new activity； he would be happy
cherishing the old； dear form of worship。 He knew this little；
whitewashed church。 In its shadowy atmosphere he sank back into
being。 He liked to sink himself in its hush as a stone sinks
into water。
He went across his garden； mounted the wall by the little
steps； and entered the hush and peace of the church。 As the
heavy door clanged to behind him； his feet reechoed in the
aisle； his heart reechoed with a little passion of tenderness
and mystic peace。 He was also slightly ashamed； like a man who
has failed； who lapses back for his fulfilment。
He loved to light the candles at the an； and sitting there
alone in the little glow； practice the hymns and chants for the
service。 The whitewashed arches retreated into darkness； the
sound of the an and the anpedals died away upon the
unalterable stillness of the church； there were faint； ghostly
noises in the tower； and then the music swelled out again；
loudly； triumphantly。
He ceased to fret about his life。 He relaxed his will； and
let everything go。 What was between him and his wife was a great
thing； if it was not everything。 She had conquered； really。 Let
him wait； and abide； wait and abide。 She and the baby and
himself； they were one。 The an rang out his protestation。 His
soul lay in the darkness as he pressed the keys of the
an。
To Anna； the baby was a plete bliss and fulfilment。 Her
desires sank into abeyance； her soul was in bliss over the baby。
It was rather a delicate child； she had trouble to rear it。 She
never for a moment thought it would die。 It was a delicate
infant； therefore it behoved her to make it strong。 She threw
herself into the labour； the child was everything。 Her
imagination was all occupied here。 She was a mother。 It was
enough to handle the new little limbs； the new little body； hear
the new little voice crying in the stillness。 All the future
rang to her out of the sound of the baby's crying and cooing；
she balanced the ing years of life in her hands； as she
nursed the child。 The passionate sense of fulfilment； of the
future germinated in her； made her vivid and powerful。 All the
future was in her hands； in the hands of the woman。 And before
this baby was ten months old； she was again with child。 She
seemed to be in the fecund of storm life； every moment was full
and busy with productiveness to her。 She felt like the earth；
the mother of everything。
Brangwen occupied himself with the church； he played the
an； he trained the choirboys； he taught a Sundayschool
class of youths。 He was happy enough。 There was an eager；
yearning kind of happiness in him as he taught the boys on
Sundays。 He was all the time exciting himself with the proximity
of some secret that he had not yet fathomed。
In the house； he served his wife and the little matriarchy。
She loved him because he was the father of her children。 And she
always had a physical passion for him。 So he gave up trying to
have the spiritual superiority and control； or even her respect
for his conscious or public life。 He lived simply by her
physical love for him。 And he served the little matriarchy；
nursing the child and helping with the housework； indifferent
any more of his own dignity and importance。 But his abandoning
of claims； his living isolated upon his own interest； made him
seem unreal； unimportant。
Anna was not publicly proud of him。 But very soon she learned
to be indifferent to public life。 He was not what is called a
manly man： he did not drink or smoke or arrogate importance。 But
he was her man； and his very indifference to all claims of
manliness set her supreme in her own world with him。 Physically；
she loved him and he satisfied her。 He went alone and subsidiary
always。 At first it had irritated her； the outer world existed
so little to him。 Looking at him with outside eyes； she was
inclined to sneer at him。 But her sneer changed to a sort of
respect。 She respected him； that he could serve her so simply
and pletely。 Above all； she loved to bear his children。 She
loved to be the source of children。
She could not understand him； his strange； dark rages and his
devotion to the church。 It was the church building he cared for；
and yet his soul was passionate for something。 He laboured
cleaning the stonework； repairing the woodwork； restoring the
an； and making the singing as perfect as possible。 To keep
the church fabric and the churchritual intact was his business；
to have the intimate sacred building utterly in his own hands；
and to make the form of service plete。 There was a little
bright anguish and tension on his face； and in his intent
movements。 He was like a lover who knows he is betrayed； but who
still loves； whose love is only the more intense。 The church was
false； but he served it the more attentively。
During the day； at his work in the office； he kept himself
suspended。 He did not exist。 He worked automatically till it was
time to go home。
He loved with a hot heart the darkhaired little Ursula； and
he waited for the child to e to consciousness。 Now the mother
monopolized the baby。 But his heart waited in its darkness。 His
hour would e。
In the long run； he learned to submit to Anna。 She forced him
to the spirit of her laws； whilst leaving him the letter of his
own。 She bated in him his devils。 She suffered very much from
his inexplicable and incalculable dark rages； when a blackness
filled him； and a black wind seemed to sweep out of existence
everything that had to do with him。 She could feel herself；
everything； being annihilated by him。
At first she fought him。 At night； in this state； he would
kneel down to say his prayers。 She looked at his crouching
figure。
〃Why are you kneeling there； pretending to pray？〃 she said；
harshly。 〃Do you think anybody can pray； when they are in the
vile temper you are in？〃
He remained crouching by the beside； motionless。
〃It's horrible；〃 she continued； 〃and such a pretence！ What do
you pretend you are saying？ Who do you pretend you are praying
to？〃
He still remained motionless； seething with inchoate rage；
when his whole nature seemed to disintegrate。 He seemed to live
with a strain upon himself； and occasionally came these dark；
chaotic rages； the lust for destruction。 She then fought with
him； and their fights were horrible； murderous。 And then the
passion between them came just as black and awful。
But little by little； as she learned to love him better； she
would put herself aside； and when she felt one of his fits upon
him； would ignore him； successfully leave him in his world；
whilst she remained in her own。 He had a black struggle with
himself； to e back to her。 For at last he learned that he
would be in hell until he came back to her。 So he struggled to
submit to her； and she was afraid of the ugly strain in his
eyes。 She made love to him； and took him。 Then he was grateful
to her love； humble。
He made himself a woodwork shed； in which to restore things
which were destroyed in the church。 So he had plenty to do： his
wife； his child； the church； the woodwork； and his wageearning；
all occupying him。 If only there were not some limit to him；
some darkness across his eyes！ He had to give in to it at last
himself。 He must submit to his oe
limit to himself； of ＇something unformed in＇ his own black；
violent temper； and to reckon with it。 But as she was more gentle
with him； it became quieter。
As he sat sometimes very still； with a bright； vacant face；
Anna could see the suffering among the brightness。 He was aware
of some limit to himself； of something unformed in his very
being； of some buds which were not ripe in him； some folded
centres of darkness which would never develop and unfold whilst
he was alive in the body。 He was unready for fulfilment。
Something undeveloped in him limited him； there was a darkness
in him which he could not unfold； which would never
unfold in him。
CHAPTER VIII
THE CHILD
From the first； the baby stirred in the young father a
deep； strong emotion he dared scarcely acknowledge； it was so
strong and came out of the dark of him。 When he heard the child
cry； a terror possessed him； because of the answering echo from
the unfathomed distances in himself。 Must he know in himself
such distances； perilous and imminent？
He had the infant in his arms； he walked backwards and
forwards troubled by the crying of his own flesh and blood。 This
was his own flesh and blood crying！ His soul rose against the
voice suddenly breaking out from him； from the distances in
him。
Sometimes in the night； the child cried and cried； when the
night was heavy and sleep oppressed him。 And half asleep； he
stretched out his hand to put it over the baby's face to stop
the crying。 But something arrested his hand： the very
inhumanness of the intolerable； continuous crying arrested him。
It was so impersonal； without cause or object。 Yet he echoed to
it directly； his soul answered its madness。 It filled him with
terror； almost with frenzy。
He learned to acquiesce to this； to submit to the awful；
obliterated sources which were the origin of his living tissue。
He was not what he conceived himself to be！ Then he was what he
was； unknown； potent； dark。
He became accustomed to the child； he knew how to lift and
balance the little body。 The baby had a beautiful； rounded head
that moved him passionately。 He would have fought to the last
drop to defend that exquisite； perfect round head。
He learned to know the little hands and feet； the strange；
unseeing； goldenbrown eyes； the mouth that opened only to cry；
or to suck； or to show a queer； toothless laugh。 He could almost
understand even the dangling legs； which at first had created in
him a feeling of aversion。 They could kick in their queer little
way； they had their own softness。
One evening； suddenly； he saw the tiny； living thing rolling
naked in the mother's lap； and he was sick； it was so utterly
helpless and vulnerable and extraneous； in a world of hard
surfaces and varying altitudes； it lay vulnerable and naked at
every point。 Yet it was quite blithe。 And yet； in its blind；
awful crying； was there not the blind； faroff terror of its own
vulnerable nakedness； the terror of being so utterly delivered
over； helpless at every point。 He