The Rainbow

They went on in this way for some time, always coming

together, but rarely touching, very seldom did they kiss. And

then, often, it was merely a touch of the lips, a sign. But her

eyes began to waken with a constant fire, she paused often in

the midst of her transit, as if to recollect something, or to

discover something.

And his face became sombre, intent, he did not really hear

what was said to him.

One evening in August he came when it was raining. He came in

with his jacket collar turned up, his jacket buttoned close, his

face wet. And he looked so slim and definite, coming out of the

chill rain, she was suddenly blinded with love for him. Yet he

sat and talked with her father and mother, meaninglessly, whilst

her blood seethed to anguish in her. She wanted to touch him

now, only to touch him.

There was the queer, abstract look on her silvery radiant

face that maddened her father, her dark eyes were hidden. But

she raised them to the youth. And they were dark with a flare

that made him quail for a moment.

She went into the second kitchen and took a lantern. Her

father watched her as she returned.

"Come with me, Will," she said to her cousin. "I want to see

if I put the brick over where that rat comes in."

"You've no need to do that," retorted her father. She took no

notice. The youth was between the two wills. The colour mounted

into the father's face, his blue eyes stared. The girl stood

near the door, her head held slightly back, like an indication

that the youth must come. He rose, in his silent, intent way,

and was gone with her. The blood swelled in Brangwen's forehead

veins.

It was raining. The light of the lantern flashed on the

cobbled path and the bottom of the wall. She came to a small

ladder, and climbed up. He reached her the lantern, and

followed. Up there in the fowl-loft, the birds sat in fat

bunches on the perches, the red combs shining like fire. Bright,

sharp eyes opened. There was a sharp crawk of expostulation as

one of the hens shifted over. The cock sat watching, his yellow

neck-feathers bright as glass. Anna went across the dirty floor.

Brangwen crouched in the loft watching. The light was soft under

the red, naked tiles. The girl crouched in a corner. There was

another explosive bustle of a hen springing from her perch.

Anna came back, stooping under the perches. He was waiting

for her near the door. Suddenly she had her arms round him, was

clinging close to him, cleaving her body against his, and

crying, in a whispering, whimpering sound.

"Will, I love you, I love you, Will, I love you." It sounded

as if it were tearing her.