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consider the soul of the individual sufficiently important。 He
believed a man was important in so far as he represented all
humanity。
He could not see； it was not born in him to see； that the
highest good of the munity as it stands is no longer the
highest good of even the average individual。 He thought that；
because the munity represents millions of people； therefore
it must be millions of times more important than any individual；
fetting that the munity is an abstraction from the many；
and is not the many themselves。 Now when the statement of the
abstract good for the munity has bee a formula lacking in
all inspiration or value to the average intelligence； then the
〃mon good〃 bees a general nuisance； representing the
vulgar； conservative materialism at a low level。
And by the highest good of the greatest number is chiefly
meant the material prosperity of all classes。 Skrebensky did not
really care about his own material prosperity。 If he had been
pennilesswell； he would have taken his chances。 Therefore
how could he find his highest good in giving up his life for the
material prosperity of everybody else！ What he considered an
unimportant thing for himself he could not think worthy of every
sacrifice on behalf of other people。 And that which he would
consider of the deepest importance to himself as an
individualoh； he said； you mustn't consider the munity
from that standpoint。 Nonowe know what the
munity wants； it wants something solid； it wants good wages；
equal opportunities； good conditions of living； that's what the
munity wants。 It doesn't want anything subtle or difficult。
Duty is very plainkeep in mind the material； the immediate
welfare of every man； that's all。
So there came over Skrebensky a sort of nullity； which more
and more terrified Ursula。 She felt there was something hopeless
which she had to submit to。 She felt a great sense of disaster
impending。 Day after day was made inert with a sense of
disaster。 She became morbidly sensitive； depressed；
apprehensive。 It was anguish to her when she saw one rook slowly
flapping in the sky。 That was a sign of illomen。 And the
foreboding became so black and so powerful in her； that she was
almost extinguished。
Yet what was the matter？ At the worst he was only going away。
Why did she mind； what was it she feared？ She did not know。 Only
she had a black dread possessing her。 When she went at night and
saw the big； flashing stars they seemed terrible； by day she was
always expecting some charge to be made against her。
He wrote in March to say that he was going to South Africa in
a short time； but before he went； he would snatch a day at the
Marsh。
As if in a painful dream； she waited suspended； unresolved。
She did not know； she could not understand。 Only she felt that
all the threads of her fate were being held taut； in suspense。
She only wept sometimes as she went about； saying blindly：
〃I am so fond of him； I am so fond of him。〃
He came。 But why did he e？ She looked at him for a sign。
He gave no sign。 He did not even kiss her。 He behaved as if he
were an affable； usual acquaintance。 This was superficial； but
what did it hide？ She waited for him； she wanted him to make
some sign。
So the whole of the day they wavered and avoided contact；
until evening。 Then； laughing； saying he would be back in six
months' time and would tell them all about it； he shook hands
with her mother and took his leave。
Ursula acpanied him into the lane。 The night was windy；
the yew trees seethed and hissed and vibrated。 The wind seemed
to rush about among the chimneys and the churchtower。 It was
dark。
The wind blew Ursula's face； and her clothes cleaved to her
limbs。 But it was a surging； turgid wind； instinct with
pressed vigour of life。 And she seemed to have lost
Skrebensky。 Out there in the strong； urgent night she could not
find him。
〃Where are you？〃 she asked。
〃Here；〃 came his bodiless voice。
And groping； she touched him。 A fire like lightning drenched
them。
〃Anton？〃 she said。
〃What？〃 he answered。
She held him with her hands in the darkness； she felt his
body again with hers。
〃Don't leave mee back to me；〃 she said。
〃Yes；〃 he said； holding her in his arms。
But the male in him was scotched by the knowledge that she
was not under his spell nor his influence。 He wanted to go away
from her。 He rested in the knowledge that tomorrow he was going
away； his life was really elsewhere。 His life was
elsewherehis life was elsewherethe centre of his
life was not what she would have。 She was differentthere
was a breach between them。 They were hostile worlds。
〃You will e back to me？〃 she reiterated。
〃Yes；〃 he said。 And he meant it。 But as one keeps an
appointment； not as a man returning to his fulfilment。
So she kissed him； and went indoors； lost。 He walked down to
the Marsh abstracted。 The contact with her hurt him； and
threatened him。 He shrank； he had to be free of her spirit。 For
she would stand before him； like the angel before Balaam； and
drive him back with a sword from the way he was going； into a
wilderness。
The next day she went to the station to see him go。 She
looked at him； she turned to him； but he was always so strange
and nullso null。 He was so collected。 She thought it was
that which made him null。 Strangely nothing he was。
Ursula stood near him with a mute； pale face which he would
rather not see。 There seemed some shame at the very root of
life； cold； dead shame for her。
The three made a noticeable group on the station； the girl in
her fur cap and tippet and her olive green costume； pale； tense
with youth； isolated； unyielding； the soldierly young man in a
crush hat and a heavy overcoat； his face rather pale and
reserved above his purple scarf； his whole figure neutral； then
the elder man； a fashionable bowler hat pressed low over his
dark brows； his face warmcoloured and calm； his whole figure
curiously suggestive of fullblooded indifference； he was the
eternal audience； the chorus； the spectator at the drama； in his
own life he would have no drama。
The train was rushing up。 Ursula's heart heaved； but the ice
was frozen too strong upon it。
〃Goodbye；〃 she said； lifting her hand； her face laughing
with her peculiar； blind； almost dazzling laugh。 She wondered
what he was doing； when he stooped and kissed her。 He should be
shaking hands and going。
〃Goodbye；〃 she said again。
He picked up his little bag and turned his back on her。 There
was a hurry along the train。 Ah； here was his carriage。 He took
his seat。 Tom Brangwen shut the door； and the two men shook
hands as the whistle went。
〃Goodbyeand good luck；〃 said Brangwen。
〃Thank yougoodbye。〃
The train moved off。 Skrebensky stood at the carriage window；
waving； but not really looking to the two figures； the girl and
the warmcoloured； almost effeminatelydressed man Ursula waved
her handkerchief。 The train gathered speed； it grew smaller and
smaller。 Still it ran in a straight line。 The speck of white
vanished。 The rear of the train was small in the distance。 Still
she stood on the platform； feeling a great emptiness about her。
In spite of herself her mouth was quivering： she did not want to
cry： her heart was dead cold。
Her Uncle Tom had gone to an automatic machine； and was
getting matches。
〃Would you like some sweets？〃 he said； turning round。
Her face was covered with tears； she made curious； downward
grimaces with her mouth； to get control。 Yet her heart was not
cryingit was cold and earthy。
〃What kind would you likeany？〃 persisted her
uncle。
〃I should love some peppermint drops；〃 she said； in a
strange； normal voice； from her distorted face。 But in a few
moments she had gained control of herself； and was still；
detached。
〃Let us go into the town；〃 he said； and he rushed her into a
train； moving to the town station。 They went to a cafe to drink
coffee； she sat looking at people in the street； and a great
wound was in her breast； a cold imperturbability in her
soul。
This cold imperturbability of spirit continued in her now。 It
was as if some disillusion had frozen upon her； a hard
disbelief。 Part of her had gone cold； apath