of coloured； woven paper； or a tiny basket made in the
kindergarten lesson； or a little crayon drawing of a bird。
When she appeared in the doorway； Tilly； ancient but still in
authority； would crane her skinny neck to see who it was。
〃Oh； it's you； is it？〃 she said。 〃I thought we should be
seein' you。 My word； that's a bobby…dazzlin' posy you've
brought！〃
It was curious how Tilly preserved the spirit of Tom
Brangwen； who was dead； in the Marsh。 Ursula always connected
her with her grandfather。
This day the child had brought a tight little nosegay of
pinks； white ones； with a rim of pink ones。 She was very proud
of it； and very shy because of her pride。
〃Your gran'mother's in her bed。 Wipe your shoes well if
you're goin' up； and don't go burstin' in on her like a
skyrocket。 My word； but that's a fine posy！ Did you do it all by
yourself； an' all？〃
Tilly stealthily ushered her into the bedroom。 The child
entered with a strange； dragging hesitation characteristic of
her when she was moved。 Her grandmother was sitting up in bed；
wearing a little grey woollen jacket。
The child hesitated in silence near the bed； clutching the
nosegay in front of her。 Her childish eyes were shining。 The
grandmother's grey eyes shone with a similar light。
〃How pretty！〃 she said。 〃How pretty you have made them！ What
a darling little bunch。〃
Ursula； glowing； thrust them into her grandmother's hand；
saying； 〃I made them you。〃
〃That is how the peasants tied them at home；〃 said the
grandmother； pushing the pinks with her fingers； and smelling
them。 〃Just such tight little bunches！ And they make wreaths for
their hair……they weave the stalks。 Then they go round with
wreaths in their hair； and wearing their best aprons。〃
Ursula immediately imagined herself in this story…land。
〃Did you used to have a wreath in your hair；
grandmother？〃
〃When I was a little girl； I had golden hair； something like
Katie's。 Then I used to have a wreath of little blue flowers；
oh； so blue； that e when the snow is gone。 Andrey； the
coachman； used to bring me the very first。〃
They talked； and then Tilly brought the tea…tray； set for
two。 Ursula had a special green and gold cup kept for herself at
the Marsh。 There was thin bread and butter； and cress for tea。
It was all special and wonderful。 She ate very daintily； with
little fastidious bites。
〃Why do you have two wedding…rings； grandmother？……Must
you？〃 asked the child； noticing her grandmother's ivory coloured
hand with blue veins； above the tray。
〃If I had two husbands； child。〃
Ursula pondered a moment。
〃Then you must wear both rings together？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Which was my grandfather's ring？〃
The woman hesitated。
〃This grandfather whom you knew？ This was his ring； the red
one。 The yellow one was your other grandfather's whom you never
knew。〃
Ursula looked interestedly at the two rings on the proffered
finger。
〃Where did he buy it you？〃 she asked。
〃This one？ In Warsaw； I think。〃
〃You didn't know my own grandfather then？〃
〃Not this grandfather。〃
Ursula pondered this fascinating intelligence。
〃Did he have white whiskers as well？〃
〃No； his beard was dark。 You have his brows； I think。〃
Ursula ceased and became self…conscious。 She at once
identified herself with her Polish grandfather。
〃And did he have brown eyes？〃
〃Yes； dark eyes。 He was a clever man； as quick as a lion。 He
was never still。〃
Lydia still resented Lensky。 When she thought of him； she was
always younger than he； she was always twenty； or twenty…five；
and under his domination。 He incorporated her in his ideas as if
she were not a person herself； as if she were just his
aide…de…camp； or part of his baggage； or one among his surgical
appliances。 She still resented it。 And he was always only
thirty： he had died when he was thirty…four。 She did not feel
sorry for him。 He was older than she。 Yet she still ached in the
thought of those days。
〃Did you like my first grandfather best？〃 asked Ursula。
〃I liked them both；〃 said the grandmother。
And； thinking； she became again Lensky's girl…bride。 He was
of good family； of better family even than her own； for she was
half German。 She was a young girl in a house of insecure
fortune。 And he； an intellectual； a clever surgeon and
physician； had loved her。 How she had looked up to him！ She
remembered her first transports when he talked to her； the
important young man with the severe black beard。 He had seemed
so wonderful； such an authority。 After her own lax household；
his gravity and confident； hard authority seemed almost God…like
to her。 For she had never known it in her life； all her
surroundings had been loose； lax； disordered； a welter。
〃Miss Lydia； will you marry me？〃 he had said to her in
German； in his grave； yet tremulous voice。 She had been afraid
of his dark eyes upon her。 They did not see her； they were fixed
upon her。 And he was hard； confident。 She thrilled with the
excitement of it； and accepted。 During the courtship； his kisses
were a wonder to her。 She always thought about them； and
wondered over them。 She never wanted to kiss him back。 In her
idea； the man kissed； and the woman examined in her soul the
kisses she had received。
She had never quite recovered from her prostration of the
first days； or nights； of marriage。 He had taken her to Vienna；
and she was utterly alone with him； utterly alone in another
world； everything； everything foreign； even he foreign to her。
Then came the real marriage； passion came to her； and she became
his slave； he was her lord； her lord。 She was the girl…bride；
the slave； she kissed his feet； she had thought it an honour to
touch his body； to unfasten his boots。 For two years； she had
gone on as his slave； crouching at his feet； embracing his
knees。
Children had e； he had followed his ideas。 She was there
for him； just to keep him in condition。 She was to him one of
the baser or material conditions necessary for his welfare in
prosecuting his ideas； of nationalism； of liberty； of
science。
But gradually； at twenty…three； twenty…four； she began to
realize that she too might consider these ideas。 By his
acceptance of her self…subordination； he exhausted the feeling
in her。 There were those of his associates who would discuss the
ideas with her； though he did not wish to do so himself。 She
adventured into the minds of other men。 His； then； was not the
only male mind！ She did not exist； then； just as his attribute！
She began to perceive the attention of other men。 An excitement
came over her。 She remembered now the men who had paid her
court； when she was married； in Warsaw。
Then the rebellion broke out； and she was inspired too。 She
would go as a nurse at her husband's side。 He worked like a
lion； he wore his life out。 And she followed him helplessly。 But
she disbelieved in him。 He was so separate； he ignored so much。
He counted too much on himself。 His work； his ideas；……did
nothing else matter？
Then the children were dead； and for her； everything became
remote。 He became remote。 She saw him； she saw him go white when
he heard the news； then frown； as if he thought； 〃Why
have they died now； when I have no time to grieve？〃
〃He has no time to grieve；〃 she had said； in her remote；
awful soul。 〃He has no time。 It is so important； what he does！
He is then so self…important； this half…frenzied man！ Nothing
matters； but this work of rebellion！ He has not time to grieve；
nor to think of his children！ He had not time even to beget
them； really。〃
She had let him go on alone。 But； in the chaos； she had
worked by his side again。 And out of the chaos； she had fled
with him to London。
He was a broken； cold man。 He had no affection for her； nor
for anyone。 He had failed in his work； so everything had failed。
He stiffened； and died。
She could not subscribe。 He had failed； everything had
failed； yet behind the failure was the unyielding passion of
life。 The individual effort might fail； but not the human joy。
She belonged to the human joy。
He died and went his way； but not before there was another
child。 And this little Ursula was his grandchild。 She was glad
of it。 For she still honoured him； though he had been
mistaken。
She； Lydia Brangwen； was sorry for him now。 He was
dead……he had scarcely lived。 He had never known her。 He had
lain with her； but he had never known her。 He had never received
what she could give him。 He had gone away from her empty。 So； he
had never lived。 So； he had died and passed away。 Yet there had
been strength and power in him。
She could scarcely forgive him that he had never lived。 If it
were not for Anna； and for this little Ursula； who had his
brows； there would be no more left of him than of a broken
vessel thrown away； and just remembered。
Tom Brangwen had served her。 He had e to her； and taken
from her。 He had died and gone his way into death。 But he had
made himself immortal in his knowledge with her。 So she had her
place here； in life； and in immortality。 For he had taken his
knowledge of her into death； so that she had her place in death。
〃In my father's house are many mansions。〃
She loved both her husbands。 To one she had been a naked
little girl…bride； running to serve him。 The other she loved out
of fulfilment； because he was good and had given her being；
because he had served her honourably； and bee her man； one
with her。
She was established in this stretch of life； she had e to
herself。 During her first marriage； she had not existed； except
through him； he was the substance and she the shadow running at
his feet。 She was very glad she had e to her own self。 She
was grateful to Brangwen。 She reached out to him in gratitude；
into death。
In her heart she felt a vague tenderness and pity for her
first husband； who had been her lord。 He was so wrong when he
died。 She could not bear it； that he had never lived； never
really bee himself。 And he had been her lord！ Strange； it all
had been！ Why had he been her lord？ He seemed now so far off； so
without bearing on her。
〃Which did you； grandmother？〃
〃What？〃
〃Like best。〃
〃I liked them both。 I married the first when I was quite a
girl。 Then I loved your