The Rainbow

And at last she began to draw near to him, she nestled to

him. His limbs, his body, took fire and beat up in flames. She

clung to him, she cleaved to his body. The flames swept him, he

held her in sinews of fire. If she would kiss him! He bent his

mouth down. And her mouth, soft and moist, received him. He felt

his veins would burst with anguish of thankfulness, his heart

was mad with gratefulness, he could pour himself out upon her

for ever.

When they came to themselves, the night was very dark. Two

hours had gone by. They lay still and warm and weak, like the

new-born, together. And there was a silence almost of the

unborn. Only his heart was weeping happily, after the pain. He

did not understand, he had yielded, given way. There was

no understanding. There could be only acquiescence and

submission, and tremulous wonder of consummation.

The next morning, when they woke up, it had snowed. He

wondered what was the strange pallor in the air, and the unusual

tang. Snow was on the grass and the window-sill, it weighed down

the black, ragged branches of the yews, and smoothed the graves

in the churchyard.

Soon, it began to snow again, and they were shut in. He was

glad, for then they were immune in a shadowy silence, there was

no world, no time.

The snow lasted for some days. On the Sunday they went to

church. They made a line of footprints across the garden, he

left a flat snowprint of his hand on the wall as he vaulted

over, they traced the snow across the churchyard. For three days

they had been immune in a perfect love.

There were very few people in church, and she was glad. She

did not care much for church. She had never questioned any

beliefs, and she was, from habit and custom, a regular attendant

at morning service. But she had ceased to come with any

anticipation. To-day, however, in the strangeness of snow, after

such consummation of love, she felt expectant again, and

delighted. She was still in the eternal world.

She used, after she went to the High School, and wanted to be

a lady, wanted to fulfil some mysterious ideal, always to listen

to the sermon and to try to gather suggestions. That was all

very well for a while. The vicar told her to be good in this way

and in that. She went away feeling it was her highest aim to

fulfil these injunctions.

But quickly this palled. After a short time, she was not very

much interested in being good. Her soul was in quest of

something, which was not just being good, and doing one's best.

No, she wanted something else: something that was not her

ready-made duty. Everything seemed to be merely a matter of

social duty, and never of her self. They talked about her soul,

but somehow never managed to rouse or to implicate her soul. As

yet her soul was not brought in at all.