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 high…road
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
horse…group 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 horse…group。
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 horse…mass。 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 foot…hold
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
rabbit…cleared 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 high…road。 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
path……vaguely。 It was a long way home。 She had an idea that
she must walk for the rest of her life； wearily； wearily。 Step
after step； step after step； and always along the wet； rainy
road between the hedges。 Step after step； step after step； the
monotony produced a deep； cold sense of nausea in her。 How
profound was her cold nausea； how profound！ That too plumbed the
bottom。 She seemed destined to find the bottom of all things
to…day： the bottom of all things。 Well； at any rate she was
walking along the bottom…most bed……she was quite safe：
quite safe； if she had to go on and on for ever； seeing this was
the very bottom； and there was nothing deeper。 There was nothing
deeper； you see； so one could not but feel certain； passive。
She arrived home at last。 The climb up the hill to Beldover
had been very trying。 Why must one climb the hill？ Why must one
climb？ Why not stay below？ Why force one's way up the slope？ Why
force one's way up and up； when one is at the bottom？ Oh； it was
very trying； very wearying； very burdensome。 Always burdens；
always； always burdens。 Still； she must get to the top and go
home to bed。 She must go to bed。
She got in and went upstairs in the dusk without its being
noticed she was in such a sodden condition。 She was too tired to
go downstairs again。 She got into bed and lay shuddering with
cold； yet too apathetic to get up or call for relief。 Then
gradually she became more ill。
She was very ill for a fortnight； delirious； shaken and
racked。 But always； amid the ache of delirium； she had a dull
firmness of being； a sense of permanency。 She was in some way
like the stone at the bottom of the river； inviolable and
unalterable； no matter what storm raged in her body。 Her soul
lay still and permanent； full of pain； but itself for ever。
Under all her illness； persisted a deep； inalterable
knowledge。
She knew； and she cared no more。 Throughout her illness；
distorted into vague forms； persisted the question of herself
and Skrebensky； like a gnawing ache that was still superficial；
and did not touch her isolated； impregnable core of reality。 But
the corrosion of him burned in her till it burned itself
out。
Must she belong to him； must she adhere to him？ Something
pelled her； and yet it was not real。 Always the ache； the
ache of unreality； of her belonging to Skrebensky。 What bound
her to him when she was not bound to him？ Why did the falsity
persist？ Why did the falsity gnaw； gnaw； gnaw at her； why could
she not wake up to clarity； to reality。 If she could but wake
up； if she could but wake up； the falsity of the dream； of her
connection with Skrebensky； would be gone。 But the sleep； the
delirium pinned her down。 Even when she was calm and sober she
was in its spell。
Yet she was never in its spell。 What extraneous thing bound
her to him？ There was some bond put upon her。 Why could she not
break it through？ What was it？ What was it？
In her delirium she beat and beat at the question。 And at
last her weariness gave her the answer……it was the child。
The child bound her to him。 The child was like a bond round her
brain； tightened on her brain。 It bound her to Skrebensky。
But why； why did it bind her to Skrebensky？ Could she not
have a child of herself？ Was not the child her own affair？ all
her own affair？ What had it to do with him？ Why must she be
bound； aching and cramped with the bondage； to Skrebensky and
Skrebensky's world？ Anton's world： it became in her feverish
brain a pression which enclosed her。 If she could not get out
of the pression she would go mad。 The pression was Anton
and Anton's world； not the Anton she possessed； but the Anton
she did not possess； that which was owned by some other
influence； by the world。
She fought and fought and fought all through her illness to
be free of him and his world； to put it aside； to put it aside；
into its place。 Yet ever anew it gained ascendency over her； it
laid new hold on her。 Oh； the unutterable weariness of her
flesh； which she could not cast off； nor yet extricate。 If she
could but extricate herself； if she could but disengage herself
from feeling； from her body； from all the vast encumbrances of
the world that was in contact with her； from her father； and her
mother； and her lover； and all her acquaintance。
Repeatedly； in an ache of utter weariness she repeated： 〃I
have no father nor mother nor lover； I have no allocated place
in the world of things； I do not belong to Beldover nor to
Nottingham nor to England nor to this world； they none of them
exist； I am trammelled and entangled in them； but they are all
unreal。 I must break out of it； like a nut from its shell which
is an unreality。〃
And again； to her feverish brain； came the vivid reality of
acorns in February lying on the floor of a wood with their
shells burst and discarded and the kernel issued naked to put
itself forth。 She was the naked； clear kernel thrusting forth
the clear； powerful shoot； and the world was a bygone winter；
discarded； her mother and father and Anton； and college and all
her friends； all cast off like a year that has gone by； whilst
the kernel was free and naked and striving to take new root； to
create a new knowledge of Eternity in the flux of Time。 And the
kernel was the only reality； the rest was cast off into
oblivion。
This grew and grew upon her。 When she opened her eyes