Indiawithin three weeks of his arrival there。 In a
month's time she would receive word from him。 Then she would
go。
She 。 She thought only of preparing her
garments and of living quietly； peacefully； till the time when
she should join him again and her history would be concluded for
ever。 The peace held like an unnatural calm for a long time。 She
was aware； however； of a gathering restiveness； a tumult
impending within her。 She tried to run away from it。 She wished
she could hear from Skrebensky； in answer to her letter； so that
her course should be resolved； she should be engaged in
fulfilling her fate。 It was this inactivity which made her
liable to the revulsion she dreaded。
It was curious how little she cared about his not having
written to her before。 It was enough that she had sent her
letter。 She would get the required answer； that was all。
One afternoon in early October； feeling the seething rising
to madness within her； she slipped out in the rain； to walk
abroad； lest the house should suffocate her。 Everywhere was
drenched wet and deserted； the grimed houses glowed dull red；
the butt houses burned scarlet in a gleam of light； under the
glistening； blackish purple slates。 Ursula went on towards
Willey Green。 She lifted her face and walked swiftly； seeing the
passage of light across the shallow valley； seeing the colliery
and its clouds of steam for a moment visionary in dim
brilliance； away in the chaos of rain。 Then the veils closed
again。 She was glad of the rain's privacy and intimacy。
Making on towards the wood； she saw the pale gleam of Willey
Water through the cloud below； she walked the open space where
hawthorn trees streamed like hair on the wind and round bushes
were presences slowing through the atmosphere。 It was very
splendid； free and chaotic。
Yet she hurried to the wood for shelter。 There； the vast
booming overhead vibrated down and encircled her； treetrunks
spanned the circle of tremendous sound； myriads of treetrunks；
enormous and streaked black with water； thrust like stanchions
upright between the roaring overhead and the sweeping of the
circle underfoot。 She glided between the treetrunks； afraid of
them。 They might turn and shut her in as she went through their
martialled silence。
So she flitted along； keeping an illusion that she was
unnoticed。 She felt like a bird that has flown in through the
window of a hall where vast warriors sit at the board。 Between
their grave； booming ranks she was hastening； assuming she was
unnoticed； till she emerged； with beating heart； through the far
window and out into the open； upon the vivid green； marshy
meadow。
She turned under the shelter of the mon； seeing the great
veils of rain swinging with slow； floating waves across the
landscape。 She was very wet and a long way from home； far
enveloped in the rain and the waving landscape。 She must beat
her way back through all this fluctuation； back to stability and
security。
A solitary thing； she took the track straight across the
wilderness； going back。 The path was a narrow groove in the turf
between high； sere； tussocky grass； it was scarcely more than a
rabbit run。 So she moved swiftly along； watching her footing；
going like a bird on the wind； with no thought； contained in
motion。 But her heart had a small； living seed of fear； as she
went through the wash of hollow space。
Suddenly she knew there was something else。 Some horses were
looming in the rain； not near yet。 But they were going to be
near。 She continued her path； inevitably。 They were horses in
the lee of a clump of trees beyond； above her。 She pursued her
way with bent head。 She did not want to lift her face to them。
She did not want to know they were there。 She went on in the
wild track。
She knew the heaviness on her heart。 It was the weight of the
horses。 But she would circumvent them。 She would bear the weight
steadily； and so escape。 She would go straight on； and on； and
be gone by。
Suddenly the weight deepened and her heart grew tense to bear
it。 Her breathing was laboured。 But this weight also she could
bear。 She knew without looking that the horses were moving
nearer。 What were they？ She felt the thud of their heavy hoofs
on the ground。 What was it that was drawing near her； what
weight oppressing her heart？ She did not know； she did not
look。
Yet now her way was cut off。 They were blocking her back。 She
knew they had gathered on a log bridge over the sedgy dike； a
dark； heavy； powerfully heavy knot。 Yet her feet went on and on。
They would burst before her。 They would burst before her。 Her
feet went on and on。 And tense； and more tense became her nerves
and her veins； they ran hot； they ran white hot； they must fuse
and she must die。
But the horses had burst before her。 In a sort of lightning
of knowledge their movement travelled through her； the quiver
and strain and thrust of their powerful flanks； as they burst
before her and drew on； beyond。
She knew they had not gone； she knew they awaited her still。
But she went on over the log bridge that their hoofs had churned
and drummed； she went on； knowing things about them。 She was
aware of their breasts gripped； clenched narrow in a hold that
never relaxed； she was aware of their red nostrils flaming with
long endurance； and of their haunches； so rounded； so massive；
pressing； pressing； pressing to burst the grip upon their
breasts； pressing for ever till they went mad； running against
the walls of time； and never bursting free。 Their great haunches
were smoothed and darkened with rain。 But the darkness and
wetness of rain could not put out the hard； urgent； massive fire
that was locked within these flanks； never； never。
She went on； drawing near。 She was aware of the great flash
of hoofs； a bluish； iridescent flash surrounding a hollow of
darkness。 Large； large seemed the bluish； incandescent flash of
the hoofiron； large as a halo of lightning round the knotted
darkness of the flanks。 Like circles of lightning came the flash
of hoofs from out of the powerful flanks。
They were awaiting her again。 They had gathered under an oak
tree； knotting their awful； blind； triumphing flanks together；
and waiting； waiting。 They were waiting for her approach。 As if
from a far distance she was drawing near； towards the line of
twiggy oak trees where they made their intense darkness；
gathered on a single bank。
She must draw near。 But they broke away； they cantered round；
making a wide circle to avoid noticing her； and cantered back
into the open hillside behind her。
They were behind her。 The way was open before her； to the
gate in the high hedge in the near distance； so she could pass
into the smaller； cultivated field； and so out to the highroad
and the ordered world of man。 Her way was clear。 She lulled her
heart。 Yet her heart was couched with fear； couched with fear
all along。
Suddenly she hesitated as if seized by lightning。 She seemed
to fall； yet found herself faltering forward with small steps。
The thunder of horses galloping down the path behind her shook
her； the weight came down upon her； down； to the moment of
extinction。 She could not look round； so the horses thundered
upon her。
Cruelly； they swerved and crashed by on her left hand。 She
saw the fierce flanks crinkled and as yet inadequate； the great
hoofs flashing bright as yet only brandished about her； and one
by one the horses crashed by； intent； working themselves up。
They had gone by； brandishing themselves thunderously about
her； enclosing her。 They slackened their burst transport； they
slowed down； and cantered together into a knot once more； in the
corner by the gate and the trees ahead of her。 They stirred；
they moved uneasily； they settled their uneasy flanks into one
group； one purpose。 They were up against her。
Her heart was gone； she had no more heart。 She knew she dare
not draw near。 That concentrated； knitted flank of the
horsegroup had conquered。 It stirred uneasily； awaiting her；
knowing its triumph。 It stirred uneasily； with the uneasiness of
awaited triumph。 Her heart was gone； her limbs were dissolved；
she was dissolved like water。 All the hardness and looming power
was in the massive body of the horsegroup。
Her feet faltered； she came to a standstill。 It was the
crisis。 The horses stirred their flanks uneasily。 She looked
away； failing。 On her left； two hundred yards down the slope；
the thick hedge ran parallel。 At one point there was an oak
tree。 She might climb into the boughs of that oak tree； and so
round and drop on the other side of the hedge。
Shuddering； with limbs like water； dreading every moment to
fall； she began to work her way as if making a wide detour round
the horsemass。 The horses stirred their flanks in a knot
against her。 She trembled forward as if in a trance。
Then suddenly； in a flame of agony； she darted； seized the
rugged knots of the oak tree and began to climb。 Her body was
weak but her hands were as hard as steel。 She knew she was
strong。 She struggled in a great effort till she hung on the
bough。 She knew the horses were aware。 She gained her foothold
on the bough。 The horses were loosening their knot； stirring；
trying to realize。 She was working her way round to the other
side of the tree。 As they started to canter towards her； she
fell in a heap on the other side of the hedge。
For some moments she could not move。 Then she saw through the
rabbitcleared bottom of the hedge the great； working hoofs of
the horses as they cantered near。 She could not bear it。 She
rose and walked swiftly； diagonally across the field。 The horses
galloped along the other side of the hedge to the corner； where
they were held up。 She could feel them there in their huddled
group all the while she hastened across the bare field。 They
were almost pathetic； now。 Her will alone carried her； till；
trembling； she climbed the fence under a leaning thorn tree that
overhung the grass by the highroad。 The use went from her； she
sat on the fence leaning back against the trunk of the thorn
tree； motionless。
As she sat there； spent； time and the flux of change passed
away from her； she lay as if unconscious upon the bed of the
stream； like a stone； unconscious； unchanging； unchangeable；
whilst everything rolled by in transience； leaving her there； a
stone at rest on the bed of the stream； inalterable and passive；
sunk to the bottom of all change。
She lay still a long time； with her back against the thorn
tree trunk； in her final isolation。 Some colliers passed；
tramping heavily up the wet road； their voices sounding out；
their shoulders up to their ears； their figures blotched and
spectral in the rain。 Some did not see her。 She opened her eyes
languidly as they passed by。 Then one man going alone saw her。
The whites of his eyes showed in his black face as he looked in
wonderment at her。 He hesitated in his walk； as if to speak to
her； out of frightened concern for her。 How she dreaded his
speaking to her； dreaded his questioning her。
She slipped from her seat and went vaguely along the
pathvaguely。 It was a long way home。 She had an idea that
she must walk for the rest of her life； wearily； wearily。 Step
after st