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jewjaws。
Angry and stiff； she went through her last term。 She would
rather be out again earning her own living。 Even Brinsley Street
and Mr。 Harby seemed real in parison。 Her violent hatred of
the Ilkeston School was nothing pared with the sterile
degradation of college。 But she was not going back to Brinsley
Street either。 She would take her B。A。； and bee a mistress in
some Grammar School for a time。
The last year of her college career was wheeling slowly
round。 She could see ahead her examination and her departure。
She had the ash of disillusion gritting under her teeth。 Would
the next move turn out the same？ Always the shining doorway
ahead； and then； upon approach； always the shining doorway was a
gate into another ugly yard； dirty and active and dead。 Always
the crest of the hill gleaming ahead under heaven： and then；
from the top of the hill only another sordid valley full of
amorphous； squalid activity。
No matter！ Every hilltop was a little different； every
valley was somehow new。 Cossethay and her childhood with her
father； the Marsh and the little Church school near the Marsh；
and her grandmother and her uncles； the High School at
Nottingham and Anton Skrebensky； Anton Skrebensky and the dance
in the moonlight between the fires； then the time she could not
think of without being blasted； Winifred Inger； and the months
before being a schoolteacher； then the horrors of Brinsley
Street； lapsing into parative peacefulness； Maggie； and
Maggie's brother； whose influence she could still feel in her
veins； when she conjured him up； then college； and Dorothy
Russell； who was now in France； then the next move into the
world again！
Already it was a history。 In every phase she was so
different。 Yet she was always Ursula Brangwen。 But what did it
mean； Ursula Brangwen？ She did not know what she was。 Only she
was full of rejection； of refusal。 Always； always she was
spitting out of her mouth the ash and grit of disillusion； of
falsity。 She could only stiffen in rejection； in rejection。 She
seemed always negative in her action。
That which she was； positively； was dark and unrevealed； it
could not e forth。 It was like a seed buried in dry ash。 This
world in which she lived was like a circle lighted by a lamp。
This lighted area； lit up by man's pletest consciousness； she
thought was all the world： that here all was disclosed for ever。
Yet all the time； within the darkness she had been aware of
points of light； like the eyes of wild beasts； gleaming；
perating； vanishing。 And her soul had acknowledged in a great
heave of terror only the outer darkness。 This inner circle of
light in which she lived and moved； wherein the trains rushed
and the factories ground out their machineproduce and the
plants and the animals worked by the light of science and
knowledge； suddenly it seemed like the area under an arclamp；
wherein the moths and children played in the security of
blinding light； not even knowing there was any darkness； because
they stayed in the light。
But she could see the glimmer of dark movement just out of
range； she saw the eyes of the wild beast gleaming from the
darkness； watching the vanity of the camp fire and the sleepers；
she felt the strange； foolish vanity of the camp； which said
〃Beyond our light and our order there is nothing；〃 turning their
faces always inward towards the sinking fire of illuminating
consciousness； which prised sun and stars； and the Creator；
and the System of Righteousness； ignoring always the vast
darkness that wheeled round about； with halfrevealed shapes
lurking on the edge。
Yea； and no man dared even throw a firebrand into the
darkness。 For if he did he was jeered to death by the others；
who cried 〃Fool； antisocial knave； why would you disturb us
with bogeys？ There is no darkness。 We move and live and
have our being within the light； and unto us is given the
eternal light of knowledge； we prise and prehend the
innermost core and issue of knowledge。 Fool and knave； how dare
you belittle us with the darkness？〃
Nevertheless the darkness wheeled round about； with grey
shadowshapes of wild beasts； and also with dark shadowshapes
of the angels； whom the light fenced out； as it fenced out the
more familiar beasts of darkness。 And some； having for a moment
seen the darkness； saw it bristling with the tufts of the hyena
and the wolf； and some having given up their vanity of the
light； having died in their own conceit； saw the gleam in the
eyes of the wolf and the hyena； that it was the flash of the
sword of angels； flashing at the door to e in； that the
angels in the darkness were lordly and terrible and not to be
denied； like the flash of fangs。
It was a little while before Easter； in her last year of
college； when Ursula was twentytwo years old； that she heard
again from Skrebensky。 He had written to her once or twice from
South Africa； during the first months of his service out there
in the war； and since had sent her a postcard every now and
then； at ever longer intervals。 He had bee a first
lieutenant； and had stayed out in Africa。 She had not heard of
him now for more than two years。
Often her thoughts returned to him。 He seemed like the
gleaming dawn； yellow； radiant； of a long； grey； ashy day。 The
memory of him was like the thought of the first radiant hours of
morning。 And here was the blank grey ashiness of later daytime。
Ah； if he had only remained true to her； she might have known
the sunshine； without all this toil and hurt and degradation of
a spoiled day。 He would have been her angel。 He held the keys of
the sunshine。 Still he held them。 He could open to her the gates
of succeeding freedom and delight。 Nay； if he had remained true
to her； he would have been the doorway to her； into the
boundless sky of happiness and plunging； inexhaustible freedom
which was the paradise of her soul。 Ah； the great range he would
have opened to her； the illimitable endless space for
selfrealization and delight for ever。
The one thing she believed in was in the love she had held
for him。 It remained shining and plete； a thing to hark back
to。 And she said to herself； when present things seemed a
failure：
〃Ah； I was fond of him；〃 as if with him the leading
flower of her life had died。
Now she heard from him again。 The chief effect was pain。 The
pleasure； the spontaneous joy was not there any longer。 But her
will rejoiced。 Her will had fixed itself to him。 And the
old excitement of her dreams stirred and woke up。 He was e；
the man with the wondrous lips that could send the kiss wavering
to the very end of all space。 Was he e back to her？ She did
not believe。
My dear Ursula； I am back in England again for a few
months before going out again； this time to India。 I wonder if
you still keep the memory of our times together。 I have still
got the little photograph of you。 You must be changed since
then； for it is about six years ago。 I am fully six years
older；I have lived through another life since I knew you
at Cossethay。 I wonder if you would care to see me。 I shall e
up to Derby next week； and I would call in Nottingham； and we
might have tea together。 Will you let me know？ I shall look for
your answer。
Anton Skrebensky
Ursula had taken this letter from the rack in the hall at
college； and torn it open as she crossed to the Women's room。
The world seemed to dissolve away from around her； she stood
alone in clear air。
Where could she go； to be alone？ She fled away； upstairs； and
through the private way to the reference library。 Seizing a
book； she sat down and pondered the letter。 Her heart beat； her
limbs trembled。 As in a dream； she heard one gong sound in the
college； then； strangely； another。 The first lecture had gone
by。
Hurriedly she took one of her notebooks and began to
write。
〃Dear Anton； Yes； I still have the ring。 I should be very
glad to see you again。 You can e here to college for me； or I
will meet you somewhere in the town。 Will you let me know？ Your
sincere friend〃
Trembling； she asked the librarian； who was her friend； if he
would give her an envelope。 She sealed and addressed her letter；
and went out； bareheaded； to post i