The Rainbow

It had a separate being, but it was his own child. His flesh

and blood vibrated to it. He caught the baby to his breast with

his passionate, clapping laugh. And the infant knew him.

As the newly-opened, newly-dawned eyes looked at him, he

wanted them to perceive him, to recognize him. Then he was

verified. The child knew him, a queer contortion of laughter

came on its face for him. He caught it to his breast, clapping

with a triumphant laugh.

The golden-brown eyes of the child gradually lit up and

dilated at the sight of the dark-glowing face of the youth. It

knew its mother better, it wanted its mother more. But the

brightest, sharpest little ecstasy was for the father.

It began to be strong, to move vigorously and freely, to make

sounds like words. It was a baby girl now. Already it knew his

strong hands, it exulted in his strong clasp, it laughed and

crowed when he played with it.

And his heart grew red--hot with passionate feeling for

the child. She was not much more than a year old when the second

baby was born. Then he took Ursula for his own. She his first

little girl. He had set his heart on her.

The second had dark blue eyes and a fair skin: it was more a

Brangwen, people said. The hair was fair. But they forgot Anna's

stiff blonde fleece of childhood. They called the newcomer

Gudrun.

This time, Anna was stronger, and not so eager. She did not

mind that the baby was not a boy. It was enough that she had

milk and could suckle her child: Oh, oh, the bliss of the little

life sucking the milk of her body! Oh, oh, oh the bliss, as the

infant grew stronger, of the two tiny hands clutching, catching

blindly yet passionately at her breast, of the tiny mouth

seeking her in blind, sure, vital knowledge, of the sudden

consummate peace as the little body sank, the mouth and throat

sucking, sucking, sucking, drinking life from her to make a new

life, almost sobbing with passionate joy of receiving its own

existence, the tiny hands clutching frantically as the nipple

was drawn back, not to be gainsaid. This was enough for Anna.

She seemed to pass off into a kind of rapture of motherhood, her

rapture of motherhood was everything.

So that the father had the elder baby, the weaned child, the

golden-brown, wondering vivid eyes of the little Ursula were for

him, who had waited behind the mother till the need was for him.

The mother felt a sharp stab of jealousy. But she was still more

absorbed in the tiny baby. It was entirely hers, its need was

direct upon her.

So Ursula became the child of her father's heart. She was the

little blossom, he was the sun. He was patient, energetic,

inventive for her. He taught her all the funny little things, he

filled her and roused her to her fullest tiny measure. She

answered him with her extravagant infant's laughter and her call

of delight.