by herself； without connection： her grandmother； who had e
from so far and was centred in so wide an horizon： people must
e up to these standards before they could be Ursula's
people。
So even as a girl of twelve she was glad to burst the narrow
boundary of Cossethay； where only limited people lived。 Outside；
was all vastness； and a throng of real； proud people whom she
would love。
Going to school by train； she must leave home at a quarter to
eight in the morning； and she did not arrive again till
halfpast five at evening。 Of this she was glad； for the house
was small and overful。 It was a storm of movement； whence there
had been no escape。 She hated so much being in charge。
The house was a storm of movement。 The children were healthy
and turbulent； the mother only wanted their animal wellbeing。
To Ursula； as she grew a little older； it became a nightmare。
When she saw； later； a Rubens picture with storms of naked
babies； and found this was called 〃Fecundity〃； she shuddered；
and the world became abhorrent to her。 She knew as a child what
it was to live amidst storms of babies； in the heat and swelter
of fecundity。 And as a child； she was against her mother；
passionately against her mother； she craved for some
spirituality and stateliness。
In bad weather； home was a bedlam。 Children dashed in and out
of the rain； to the puddles under the dismal yew trees； across
the wet flagstones of the kitchen； whilst the cleaningwoman
grumbled and scolded； children were swarming on the sofa；
children were kicking the piano in the parlour； to make it sound
like a beehive； children were rolling on the hearthrug； legs in
air； pulling a book in two between them； children； fiendish；
ubiquitous； were stealing upstairs to find out where our Ursula
was； whispering at bedroom doors； hanging on the latch； calling
mysteriously； 〃Ursula！ Ursula！〃 to the girl who had locked
herself in to read。 And it was hopeless。 The locked door excited
their sense of mystery； she had to open to dispel the lure。
These children hung on to her with roundeyed excited
questions。
The mother flourished amid all this。
〃Better have them noisy than ill；〃 she said。
But the growing girls； in turn； suffered bitterly。 Ursula was
just ing to the stage when Andersen and Grimm were being left
behind for the 〃Idylls of the King〃 and romantic
lovestories。
〃Elaine the fair Elaine the lovable；
Elaine the lily maid of Astolat；
High in her chamber in a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Launcelot。〃
How she loved it！ How she leaned in her bedroom window with
her black； rough hair on her shoulders； and her warm face all
rapt； and gazed across at the churchyard and the little church；
which was a turreted castle； whence Launcelot would ride just
now； would wave to her as he rode by； his scarlet cloak passing
behind the dark yew trees and between the open space： whilst
she； ah； she； would remain the lonely maid high up and isolated
in the tower； polishing the terrible shield； weaving it a
covering with a true device； and waiting； waiting； always remote
and high。
At which point there would be a faint scuffle on the stairs；
a lightpitched whispering outside the door； and a creaking of
the latch： then Billy； excited； whispering：
〃It's lockedit's locked。〃
Then the knocking； kicking at the door with childish knees；
and the urgent； childish：
〃Ursulaour Ursula？ Ursula？ Eh； our Ursula？〃
No reply。
〃Ursula！ Ehour Ursula？〃 the name was shouted now Still
no answer。
〃Mother； she won't answer；〃 came the yell。 〃She's dead。〃
〃Go awayI'm not dead。 What do you want？〃 came the
angry voice of the girl。
〃Open the door； our Ursula；〃 came the plaining cry。 It was
all over。 She must open the door。 She heard the screech of the
bucket downstairs dragged across the flagstones as the woman
washed the kitchen floor。 And the children were prowling in the
bedroom； asking：
〃What were you doing？ What had you locked the door for？〃 Then
she discovered the key of the parish room； and betook herself
there； and sat on some sacks with her books。 There began another
dream。
She was the only daughter of the old lord； she was gifted
with magic。 Day followed day of rapt silence； whilst she
wandered ghostlike in the hushed； ancient mansion； or flitted
along the sleeping terraces。
Here a grave grief attacked her： that her hair was dark。 She
must have fair hair and a white skin。 She was rather
bitter about her black mane。
Never mind； she would dye it when she grew up； or bleach it
in the sun； till it was bleached fair。 Meanwhile she wore a fair
white coif of pure Veian lace。
She flitted silently along the terraces； where jewelled
lizards basked upon the stone； and did not move when her shadow
fell upon them。 In the utter stillness she heard the tinkle of
the fountain； and smelled the roses whose blossoms hung rich and
motionless。 So she drifted； drifted on the wistful feet of
beauty； past the water and the swans； to the noble park； where；
underneath a great oak； a doe all dappled lay with her four fine
feet together； her fawn nestling suncoloured beside her。
Oh； and this doe was her familiar。 It would talk to her；
because she was a magician； it would tell her stories as if the
sunshine spoke。
Then one day； she left the door of the parish room unlocked；
careless and unheeding as she always was； the children found
their way in； Katie cut her finger and howled； Billy hacked
notches in the fine chisels； and did much damage。 There was a
great motion。
The crossness of the mother was soon finished。 Ursula locked
up the room again； and considered all was over。 Then her father
came in with the notched tools； his forehead knotted。
〃Who the deuce opened the door？〃 he cried in anger。
〃It was Ursula who opened the door；〃 said her mother。 He had
a duster in his hand。 He turned and flapped the cloth hard
across the girl's face。 The cloth stung； for a moment the girl
was as if stunned。 Then she remained motionless； her face closed
and stubborn。 But her heart was blazing。 In spite of herself the
tears surged higher； in spite of her they surged higher。
In spite of her； her face broke； she made a curious gulping
grimace； and the tears were falling。 So she went away； desolate。
But her blazing heart was fierce and unyielding。 He watched her
go； and a pleasurable pain filled him； a sense of triumph and
easy power； followed immediately by acute pity。
〃I'm sure that was unnecessaryto hit the girl across
the face；〃 said the mother coldly。
〃A flip with the duster won't hurt her；〃 he said。
〃Nor will it do her any good。〃
For days； for weeks； Ursula's heart burned from this rebuff。
She felt so cruelly vulnerable。 Did he not know how vulnerable
she was； how exposed and wincing？ He； of all people； knew。 And
he wanted to do this to her。 He wanted to hurt her right through
her closest sensitiveness； he wanted to treat her with shame； to
maim her with insult。
Her heart burnt in isolation； like a watchfire lighted。 She
did not fet； she did not fet； she never fot。 When she
returned to her love for her father； the seed of mistrust and
defiance burned unquenched； though covered up far from sight。
She no longer belonged to him unquestioned。 Slowly； slowly； the
fire of mistrust and defiance burned in her； burned away her
connection with him。
She ran a good deal alone； having a passion for all moving；
active things。 She loved the little brooks。 Wherever she found a
little running water； she was happy。 It seemed to make her run
and sing in spirit along with it。 She could sit for hours by a
brook or stream； on the roots of the alders； and watch the water
hasten dancing over the stones； or among the twigs of a fallen
branch。 Sometimes； little fish vanished before they had bee
real； like hallucinations； sometimes wagtails ran by the water's
brink； sometimes other little birds came to drink。 She saw a
kingfisher darting blueand then she was very happy。 The
kingfisher was the key to the magic world： he was witness of the
border of enchantment。
But she must move out of the intricately woven illusion of
her life： the illusion of a father whose life was an Odyssey in
an outer world； the illusion of her grandmother； of realities so
shadowy and faroff that they became as mystic
symbols：peasantgirls with wreaths of blue flowers in
their hair； the sledges and the depths of winter； the
darkbearded young grandfather； marriage and war and death； then
the multitude of illusions concerning herself； how she was truly
a princess of Poland； how in England she was under a spell； she
was not really this Ursula Brangwen； then the mirage of her
reading： out of the multicoloured illusion of this her life； she
must move on； to the Grammar School in Nottingham。
She was shy； and she suffered。 For one thing； she bit her
nails； and had a cruel consciousness in her fingertips； a
shame； an exposure。 Out of all proportion； this shame haunted
her。 She spent hours of torture； conjuring how she might keep
her gloves on： if she might say her hands were scalded； if she
might seem to fet to take off her gloves。
For she was going to inherit her own estate； when she went to
the High School。 There； each girl was a lady。 There； she was
going to walk among free souls； her comates and her equals； and
all petty things would be put away。 Ah； if only she did not bite
her nails！ If only she had not this blemish！ She wanted so much
to be perfectwithout spot or blemish； living the high；
noble life。
It was a grief to her that her father made such a poor
introduction。 He was brief as ever； like a boy saying his
errand； and his clothes looked illfitting and casual。 Whereas
Ursula would have liked robes and a ceremonial of introduction
to this； her new estate。
She made a new illusion of school。 Miss Grey； the
headmistress； had a certain silvery； schoolmistressy beauty of
character。 The school itself had been a gentleman's house。 Dark；
sombre lawns separated it from the dark； select avenue。 But its
rooms were large and of good appearance； and from the back； one
looked over lawns and shrubbery； over the trees and the grassy
slope of the Arboretum； to the town which heaped the hollow with
its roofs and cupolas and its shadows。
So Ursula seated herself upon the hill of learning； looking
down on the smoke and confusion and the manufacturing； engrossed
activity of the town。 She was happy。 Up here； in the Grammar
School； she fancied the air was finer； beyond the factory smoke。
She wanted to learn Latin and Greek and French and mathematics。
She trembled like a postulant when she wrote the Greek alphabet
for the first time。
She was upon another hillslope； whose summit she had not
scaled。 There was always the marvellous eagerness in her heart；
to climb and to see beyond。 A Latin verb was virgin soil to her：
she sniffed a new odour in it； it meant something； though she
did not know what it meant。 But she gathered it up： it was
significant。 When she knew that：
x2y2 （x ＋ y）（xy）
then she felt that she had grasped something； that she was
liberated into an intoxicating air； rare and unconditioned。 And
she was very glad as she wrote her French exercise：
〃J'AI DON