first awed her； then made her angry。 After all； there was the
sky outside； and in here； in this mysterious halfnight； when
his soul leapt with the pillars upwards； it was not to the stars
and the crystalline dark space； but to meet and clasp with the
answering impulse of leaping stone； there in the dusk and
secrecy of the roof。 The faroff clinching and mating of the
arches； the leap and thrust of the stone； carrying a great roof
overhead； awed and silenced her。
But yetyet she remembered that the open sky was no
blue vault； no dark dome hung with many twinkling lamps； but a
space where stars were wheeling in freedom； with freedom above
them always higher。
The cathedral roused her too。 But she would never consent to
the knitting of all the leaping stone in a great roof that
closed her in； and beyond which was nothing； nothing； it was the
ultimate confine。 His soul would have liked it to be so： here；
here is all； plete； eternal： motion； meeting； ecstasy； and no
illusion of time； of night and day passing by； but only
perfectly proportioned space and movement clinching and
renewing； and passion surging its way into great waves to the
altar； recurrence of ecstasy。
Her soul too was carried forward to the altar； to the
threshold of Eternity； in reverence and fear and joy。 But ever
she hung back in the transit； mistrusting the culmination of the
altar。 She was not to be flung forward on the lift and lift of
passionate flights； to be cast at last upon the altar steps as
upon the shore of the unknown。 There was a great joy and a
verity in it。 But even in the dazed swoon of the cathedral； she
claimed another right。 The altar was barren； its lights gone
out。 God burned no more in that bush。 It was dead matter lying
there。 She claimed the right to freedom above her； higher than
the roof。 She had always a sense of being roofed in。
So that she caught at little things； which saved her from
being swept forward headlong in the tide of passion that leaps
on into the Infinite in a great mass； triumphant and flinging
its own course。 She wanted to get out of this fixed； leaping；
forwardtravelling movement； to rise from it as a bird rises
with wet； limp feet from the sea； to lift herself as a bird
lifts its breast and thrusts its body from the pulse and heave
of a sea that bears it forward to an unwilling conclusion； tear
herself away like a bird on wings； and in open space where there
is clarity； rise up above the fixed； surcharged motion； a
separate speck that hangs suspended； moves this way and that；
seeing and answering before it sinks again； having chosen or
found the direction in which it shall be carried forward。
And it was as if she must grasp at something； as if her wings
were too weak to lift her straight off the heaving motion。 So
she caught sight of the wicked； odd little faces carved in
stone； and she stood before them arrested。
These sly little faces peeped out of the grand tide of the
cathedral like something that knew better。 They knew quite well；
these little imps that retorted on man's own illusion； that the
cathedral was not absolute。 They winked and leered； giving
suggestion of the many things that had been left out of the
great concept of the church。 〃However much there is inside here；
there's a good deal they haven't got in；〃 the little faces
mocked。
Apart from the lift and spring of the great impulse towards
the altar； these little faces had separate wills； separate
motions； separate knowledge； which rippled back in defiance of
the tide； and laughed in triumph of their own very
littleness。
〃Oh； look！〃 cried Anna。 〃Oh； look how adorable； the faces！
Look at her。〃
Brangwen looked unwillingly。 This was the voice of the
serpent in his Eden。 She pointed him to a plump； sly； malicious
little face carved in stone。
〃He knew her； the man who carved her；〃 said Anna。 〃I'm sure
she was his wife。〃
〃It isn't a woman at all； it's a man；〃 said Brangwen
curtly。
〃Do you think so？No！ That isn't a man。 That is no
man's face。〃
Her voice sounded rather jeering。 He laughed shortly； and
went on。 But she would not go forward with him。 She loitered
about the carvings。 And he could not go forward without her。 He
waited impatient of this counteraction。 She was spoiling his
passionate intercourse with the cathedral。 His brows began to
gather。
〃Oh； this is good！〃 she cried again。 〃Here is the same
womanlook！only he's made her cross！ Isn't it
lovely！ Hasn't he made her hideous to a degree？〃 She laughed
with pleasure。 〃Didn't he hate her？ He must have been a nice
man！ Look at herisn't it awfully goodjust like a
shrewish woman。 He must have enjoyed putting her in like that。
He got his own back on her； didn't he？〃
〃It's a man's face； no woman's at alla
monk'sclean shaven；〃 he said。
She laughed with a pouf！ of laughter。
〃You hate to think he put his wife in your cathedral； don't
you？〃 she mocked； with a tinkle of profane laughter。 And she
laughed with malicious triumph。
She had got free from the cathedral； she had even destroyed
the passion he had。 She was glad。 He was bitterly angry。 Strive
as he would； he could not keep the cathedral wonderful to him。
He was disillusioned。 That which had been his absolute；
containing all heaven and earth； was bee to him as to her； a
shapely heap of dead matterbut dead； dead。
His mouth was full of ash； his soul was furious。 He hated her
for having destroyed another of his vital illusions。 Soon he
would be stark； stark； without one place wherein to stand；
without one belief in which to rest。
Yet somewhere in him he responded more deeply to the sly
little face that knew better； than he had done before to the
perfect surge of his cathedral。
Nevertheless for the time being his soul was wretched and
homeless； and he could not bear to think of Anna's ousting him
from his beloved realities。 He wanted his cathedral； he wanted
to satisfy his blind passion。 And he could not any more。
Something intervened。
They went home again； both of them altered。 She had some new
reverence for that which he wanted； he felt that his cathedrals
would never again be to him as they had been。 Before； he had
thought them absolute。 But now he saw them crouching under the
sky； with still the dark； mysterious world of reality inside；
but as a world within a world； a sort of side show； whereas
before they had been as a world to him within a chaos： a
reality； an order； an absolute； within a meaningless
confusion。
He had felt； before； that could he but go through the great
door and look down the gloom towards the faroff； concluding
wonder of the altar； that then； with the windows suspended
around like tablets of jewels； emanating their own glory； then
he had arrived。 Here the satisfaction he had yearned after came
near； towards this； the porch of the great Unknown； all reality
gathered； and there； the altar was the mystic door； through
which all and everything must move on to eternity。
But now； somehow； sadly and disillusioned； he realized that
the doorway was no doorway。 It was too narrow； it was false。
Outside the cathedral were many flying spirits that could never
be sifted through the jewelled gloom。 He had lost his
absolute。
He listened to the thrushes in the gardens and heard a note
which the cathedrals did not include： something free and
careless and joyous。 He crossed a field that was all yellow with
dandelions； on his way to work； and the bath of yellow glowing
was something at once so sumptuous and so fresh； that he was
glad he was away from his shadowy cathedral。
There was life outside the Church。 There was much that the
Church did not include。 He thought of God； and of the whole blue
rotunda of the day。 That was something great and free。 He
thought of the ruins of the Grecian worship； and it seemed； a
temple was never perfectly a temple； till it was ruined and
mixed up with the winds and the sky and the herbs。
Still he loved the Church。 As a symbol； he loved it。 He
tended it for what it tried to represent； rather than for that
which it did represent。 Still he loved it。 The little church
across his gardenwall drew him； he gave it loving attention。
But he went to take charge of it； to preserve it。 It was as an
old； sacred thing to him。 He looked after the stone and
woodwork； mending the an and restoring a piece of broken
carving； repairing the church furniture。 Later； he became
choirmaster also。
His life was shifting its centre； being more superficial。
He had failed to bee really articulate； failed to find real
expression。 He had to continue in the old form。 But in spirit；
he was uncreated。
Anna was absorbed in the child now； she left her husband to
take his own way。 She was willing now to postpone all adventure
into unknown realities。 She had the child； her palpable and
immediate future was the child。 If her soul had found no
utterance； her womb had。
The church that neighboured with his house became very
intimate and dear to him。 He cherished it； he had it entirely in
his charge。 If he could find no new activity； he would be happy
cherishing the old； dear form of worship。 He knew this little；
whitewashed church。 In its shadowy atmosphere he sank back into
being。 He liked to sink himself in its hush as a stone sinks
into water。
He went across his garden； mounted the wall by the little
steps； and entered the hush and peace of the church。 As the
heavy door clanged to behind him； his feet reechoed in the
aisle； his heart reechoed with a little passion of tenderness
and mystic peace。 He was also slightly ashamed； like a man who
has failed； who lapses back for his fulfilment。
He loved to light the candles at the an； and sitting there
alone in the little glow； practice the hymns and chants for the
service。 The whitewashed arches retreated into darkness； the
sound of the an and the anpedals died away upon the
unalterable stillness of the church； there were faint； ghostly
noises in the tower； and then the music swelled out again；
loudly； triumphantly。
He ceased to fret about his life。 He relaxed his will； and
let everything go。 What was between him and his wife was a great
thing； if it was not everything。 She had conquered； really。 L