cloak； and she wore a black bonnet。 She walked hastily； as if
unseeing； her head rather forward。 It was her curious； absorbed；
flitting motion； as if she were passing unseen by everybody；
that first arrested him。
She had heard the cart； and looked up。 Her face was pale and
clear； she had thick dark eyebrows and a wide mouth； curiously
held。 He saw her face clearly； as if by a light in the air。 He
saw her face so distinctly； that he ceased to coil on himself；
and was suspended。
〃That's her；〃 he said involuntarily。 As the cart passed by；
splashing through the thin mud； she stood back against the bank。
Then； as he walked still beside his britching horse； his eyes
met hers。 He looked quickly away； pressing back his head； a pain
of joy running through him。 He could not bear to think of
anything。
He turned round at the last moment。 He saw her bonnet； her
shape in the black cloak； the movement as she walked。 Then she
was gone round the bend。
She had passed by。 He felt as if he were walking again in a
far world； not Cossethay； a far world； the fragile reality。 He
went on； quiet； suspended； rarefied。 He could not bear to think
or to speak； nor make any sound or sign； nor change his fixed
motion。 He could scarcely bear to think of her face。 He moved
within the knowledge of her； in the world that was beyond
reality。
The feeling that they had exchanged recognition possessed him
like a madness； like a torment。 How could he be sure； what
confirmation had he？ The doubt was like a sense of infinite
space； a nothingness； annihilating。 He kept within his breast
the will to surety。 They had exchanged recognition。
He walked about in this state for the next few days。 And then
again like a mist it began to break to let through the mon；
barren world。 He was very gentle with man and beast； but he
dreaded the starkness of disillusion cropping through again。
As he was standing with his back to the fire after dinner a
few days later； he saw the woman passing。 He wanted to know that
she knew him； that she was aware。 He wanted it said that there
was something between them。 So he stood anxiously watching；
looking at her as she went down the road。 He called to
Tilly。
〃Who might that be？〃 he asked。
Tilly； the cross…eyed woman of forty； who adored him； ran
gladly to the window to look。 She was glad when he asked her for
anything。 She craned her head over the short curtain； the little
tight knob of her black hair sticking out pathetically as she
bobbed about。
〃Oh why〃……she lifted her head and peered with her
twisted； keen brown eyes……〃why； you know who it
is……it's her from th' vicarage……you know……〃
〃How do I know； you hen…bird；〃 he shouted。
Tilly blushed and drew her neck in and looked at him with her
squinting； sharp； almost reproachful look。
〃Why you do……it's the new housekeeper。〃
〃Ay……an' what by that？〃
〃Well； an' what by that？〃 rejoined the indignant
Tilly。
〃She's a woman； isn't she； housekeeper or no housekeeper？
She's got more to her than that！ Who is she……she's got a
name？〃
〃Well； if she has； I don't know；〃 retorted Tilly； not
to be badgered by this lad who had grown up into a man。
〃What's her name？〃 he asked； more gently。
〃I'm sure I couldn't tell you；〃 replied Tilly； on her
dignity。
〃An' is that all as you've gathered； as she's housekeeping at
the vicarage？〃
〃I've 'eered mention of 'er name； but I couldn't remember it
for my life。〃
〃Why； yer riddle…skulled woman o' nonsense； what have you got
a head for？〃
〃For what other folks 'as got theirs for；〃 retorted Tilly；
who loved nothing more than these tilts when he would call her
names。
There was a lull。
〃I don't believe as anybody could keep it in their head；〃 the
woman…servant continued； tentatively。
〃What？〃 he asked。
〃Why； 'er name。〃
〃How's that？〃
〃She's fra some foreign parts or other。〃
〃Who told you that？〃
〃That's all I do know； as she is。〃
〃An' wheer do you reckon she's from； then？〃
〃I don't know。 They do say as she hails fra th' Pole。 I don't
know；〃 Tilly hastened to add； knowing he would attack her。
〃Fra th' Pole； why do you hail fra th' Pole？ Who set
up that menagerie confabulation？〃
〃That's what they say……I don't know〃
〃Who says？〃
〃Mrs。 Bentley says as she's fra th' Pole……else she is a
Pole； or summat。〃
Tilly was only afraid she was landing herself deeper now。
〃Who says she's a Pole？〃
〃They all say so。〃
〃Then what's brought her to these parts？〃
〃I couldn't tell you。 She's got a little girl with her。〃
〃Got a little girl with her？〃
〃Of three or four； with a head like a fuzz…ball。〃
〃Black？〃
〃White……fair as can be； an' all of a fuzz。〃
〃Is there a father； then？〃
〃Not to my knowledge。 I don't know。〃
〃What brought her here？〃
〃I couldn't say； without th' vicar axed her。〃
〃Is the child her child？〃
〃I s'd think so……they say so。〃
〃Who told you about her？〃
〃Why； Lizzie……a…Monday……we seed her goin'
past。〃
〃You'd have to be rattling your tongues if anything went
past。〃
Brangwen stood musing。 That evening he went up to Cossethay
to the 〃Red Lion〃； half with the intention of hearing more。
She was the widow of a Polish doctor； he gathered。 Her
husband had died； a refugee； in London。 She spoke a bit
foreign…like； but you could easily make out what she said。 She
had one little girl named Anna。 Lensky was the woman's name；
Mrs。 Lensky。
Brangwen felt that here was the unreality established at
last。 He felt also a curious certainty about her； as if she were
destined to him。 It was to him a profound satisfaction that she
was a foreigner。
A swift change had taken place on the earth for him； as if a
new creation were fulfilled； in which he had real existence。
Things had all been stark； unreal； barren； mere nullities
before。 Now they were actualities that he could handle。
He dared scarcely think of the woman。 He was afraid。 Only all
the time he was aware of her presence not far off； he lived in
her。 But he dared not knoself with her
by thinking of her。
One day he met her walking along the road with her little
girl。 It was a child with a face like a bud of apple…blossom；
and glistening fair hair like thistle…down sticking out in
straight； wild； flamy pieces； and very dark eyes。 The child
clung jealously to her mother's side when he looked at her；
staring with resentful black eyes。 But the mother glanced at him
again； almost vacantly。 And the very vacancy of her look
inflamed him。 She had wide grey…brown eyes with very dark；
fathomless pupils。 He felt the fine flame running under his
skin； as if all his veins had caught fire on the surface。 And he
went on walking without knowledge。
It was ing； he knew； his fate。 The world was submitting to
its transformation。 He made no move： it would e； what would
e。
When his sister Effie came to the Marsh for a week； he went
with her for once to church。 In the tiny place； with its mere
dozen pews； he sat not far from the stranger。 There was a
fineness about her； a poignancy about the way she sat and held
her head lifted。 She was strange； from far off； yet so intimate。
She was from far away； a presence； so close to his soul。 She was
not really there； sitting in Cossethay church beside her little
girl。 She was not living the apparent life of her days。 She
belonged to somewhere else。 He felt it poignantly； as something
real and natural。 But a pang of fear for his own concrete life；
that was only Cossethay； hurt him； and gave him misgiving。
Her thick dark brows almost met above her irregular nose； she
had a wide； rather thick mouth。 But her face was lifted to
another world of life： not to heaven or death： but to some place
where she still lived； in spite of her body's absence。
The child beside her watched everything with wide； black
eyes。 She had an odd little defiant look； her little red mouth
was pinched shut。 She seemed to be jealously guarding something；
to be always on the alert for defence。 She met Brangwen's near；
vacant； intimate gaze； and a palpitating hostility； almost like
a flame of pain； came into the wide； over…conscious dark
eyes。
The old clergyman droned on； Cossethay sat unmoved as usual。
And there was the foreign woman with a foreign air about her；
inviolate； and the strange child； also foreign； jealously
guarding something。
When the service was over； he walked in the way of another
existence out of the church。 As he went down the church…path
with his sister； behind the woman and child； the little girl
suddenly broke from her mother's hand； and slipped back with
quick； almost invisible movement； and was picking at something
almost under Brangwen's feet。 Her tiny fingers were fine and
quick； but they missed the red button。
〃Have you found something？〃 said Brangwen to her。
And he also stooped for the button。 But she had got it； and
she stood back with it pressed against her little coat； her
black eyes flaring at him； as if to forbid him to notice her。
Then； having silenced him； she turned with a swift
〃Mother；〃 and was gone down the path。
The mother had stood watching impassive； looking not at the
child； but at Brangwen。 He became aware of the woman looking at
him； standing there isolated yet for him dominant in her foreign
existence。
He did not know what to do； and turned to his sister。 But the
wide grey eyes； almost vacant yet so moving； held him beyond
himself。
〃Mother； I may have it； mayn't I？〃 came the child's proud；
silvery tones。 〃Mother〃…she seemed always to be calling her
mother to remember her…〃mother〃…and she had nothing to continue
now her mother had replied 〃Yes； my child。〃 But； with ready
invention； the child stumbled and ran on； 〃What are those
people's names？〃
Brangwen heard the abstract：
〃I don't know； dear。〃
He went on down the road as if he were not living inside
himself； but somewhere outside。
〃Who was that person？〃 his sister Effie asked。
〃I couldn't tell you；〃 he answered unknowing。
〃She's somebody very funny；〃 said Effie； almost in
condemnation。 〃That child's like one bewitched。〃
〃Bewitched……how bewitched？〃 he repeated。
〃You can see for yourself。 The mother's plain； I must
say……but the child is like a changelin