it； and she was aridly transplanted。 He was really only a
memory。 She revived his memory with strange passion； after the
departure of Winifred。 He was to her almost the symbol of her
real life。 It was as if； through him； in him； she might return
to her own self； which she was before she had loved Winifred；
before this deadness had e upon her； this pitiless
transplanting。 But even her memories were the work of her
imagination。
She dreamed of him and her as they had been together。 She
could not dream of him progressively； of what he was doing now；
of what relation he would have to her now。 Only sometimes she
wept to think how cruelly she had suffered when he left
herah； how she had suffered！ She remembered what
she had written in her diary：
〃If I were the moon； I know where I would fall down。〃
Ah； it was a dull agony to her to remember what she had been
then。 For it was remembering a dead self。 All that was dead
after Winifred。 She knew the corpse of her young； loving self；
she knew its grave。 And the young living self she mourned for
had scarcely existed； it was the creature of her
imagination。
Deep within her a cold despair remained unchanging and
unchanged。 No one would ever love her nowshe would love
no one。 The body of love was killed in her after Winifred； there
was something of the corpse in her。 She would live； she would go
on； but she would have no lovers； no lover would want her any
more。 She herself would want no lover。 The vividest little flame
of desire was extinct in her for ever。 The tiny； vivid germ that
contained the bud of her real self； her real love； was killed；
she would go on growing as a plant； she would do her best to
produce her minor flowers； but her leading flower was dead
before it was born； all her growth was the conveying of a corpse
of hope。
The miserable weeks went on； in the poky house crammed with
children。 What was her lifea sordid； formless；
disintegrated nothing； Ursula Brangwen a person without worth or
importance； living in the mean village of Cossethay； within the
sordid scope of Ilkeston。 Ursula Brangwen； at seventeen；
worthless and unvalued； neither wanted nor needed by anybody；
and conscious herself of her own dead value。 It would not bear
thinking of。
But still her dogged pride held its own。 She might be
defiled； she might be a corpse that should never be loved； she
might be a corerotten stalk living upon the food that others
provided； yet she would give in to nobody。
Gradually she became conscious that she could not go on
living at home as she was doing； without place or meaning or
worth。 The very children that went to school held her
uselessness in contempt。 She must do something。
Her father said she had plenty to do to help her mother。 From
her parents she would never get more than a hit in the face。 She
was not a practical person。 She thought of wild things； of
running away and being a domestic servant； of asking some man
to take her。
She wrote to the mistress of the High School for advice。
〃I cannot see very clearly what you should do； Ursula；〃 came
the reply； 〃unless you are willing to bee an elementary
school teacher。 You have matriculated； and that qualifies you to
take a post as uncertificated teacher in any school； at a salary
of about fifty pounds a year。
〃I cannot tell you how deeply I sympathize with you in your
desire to do something。 You will learn that mankind is a great
body of which you are one useful member； you will take your own
place at the great task which humanity is trying to fulfil。 That
will give you a satisfaction and a selfrespect which nothing
else could give。〃
Ursula's heart sank。 It was a cold； dreary satisfaction to
think of。 Yet her cold will acquiesced。 This was what she
wanted。
〃You have an emotional nature；〃 the letter went on； 〃a quick
natural response。 If only you could learn patience and
selfdiscipline； I do not see why you should not make a good
teacher。 The least you could do is to try。 You need only serve a
year； or perhaps two years； as uncertificated teacher。 Then you
would go to one of the training colleges； where I hope you would
take your degree。 I most strongly urge and advise you to keep up
your studies always with the intention of taking a degree。 That
will give you a qualification and a position in the world； and
will give you more scope to choose your own way。
〃I shall be proud to see one of my girls win her own
economical independence； which means so much more than it seems。
I shall be glad indeed to know that one more of my girls has
provided for herself the means of freedom to choose for
herself。〃
It all sounded grim and desperate。 Ursula rather hated it。
But her mother's contempt and her father's harshness had made
her raw at the quick； she knew the ignominy of being a
hangeron； she felt the festering thorn of her mother's animal
estimation。
At length she had to speak。 Hard and shut down and silent
within herself； she slipped out one evening to the workshed。 She
heard the taptaptap of the hammer upon the metal。 Her father
lifted his head as the door opened。 His face was ruddy and
bright with instinct； as when he was a youth； his black
moustache was cut close over his wide mouth； his black hair was
fine and close as ever。 But there was about him an abstraction；
a sort of instrumental detachment from human things。 He was a
worker。 He watched his daughter's hard； expressionless face。 A
hot anger came over his breast and belly。
〃What now？〃 he said。
〃Can't I；〃 she answered； looking aside； not looking at him；
〃can't I go out to work？〃
〃Go out to work； what for？〃
His voice was so strong； and ready； and vibrant。 It irritated
her。
〃I want some other life than this。〃
A flash of strong rage arrested all his blood for a
moment。
〃Some other life？〃 he repeated。 〃Why； what other life do you
want？〃
She hesitated。
〃Something else besides housework and hanging about。 And I
want to earn something。〃
Her curious； brutal hardness of speech； and the fierce
invincibility of her youth； which ignored him； made him also
harden with anger。
〃And how do you think you're going to earn anything？〃
he asked。
〃I can bee a teacherI'm qualified by my
matric。〃
He wished her matric。 in hell。
〃And how much are you qualified to earn by your matric。？〃 he
asked； jeering。
〃Fifty pounds a year；〃 she said。
He was silent； his power taken out of his hand。
He had always hugged a secret pride in the fact that his
daughters need not go out to work。 With his wife's money and his
own they had four hundred a year。 They could draw on the capital
if need be later on。 He was not afraid for his old age。 His
daughters might be ladies。
Fifty pounds a year was a pound a weekwhich was enough
for her to live on independently。
〃And what sort of a teacher do you think you'd make？ You
haven't the patience of a Jackgnat with your own brothers and
sisters； let alone with a class of children。 And I thought you
didn't like dirty； boardschool brats。〃
〃They're not all dirty。〃
〃You'd find they're not all clean。〃
There was silence in the workshop。 The lamplight fell on the
burned silver bowl that lay between him； on mallet and furnace
and chisel。 Brangwen stood with a queer； catlike light on his
face； almost like a smile。 But it was no smile。
〃Can I try？〃 she said。
〃You can do what the deuce you like； and go where you
like。〃
Her face was fixed and expressionless and indifferent。 It
always sent him to a pitch of frenzy to see it like that。 He
kept perfectly still。
Cold； without any betrayal of feeling； she turned and left
the shed。 He worked on； with all his nerves jangled。 Then he had
to put down his tools and go into the house。
In a bitter tone of anger and contempt he told his wife。
Ursula was present。 There was a brief altercation； closed by
Mrs。 Brangwen's saying； in a tone of biting superiority and
indifference：
〃Let her find out what it's like。 She'll soon have had
enough。〃
The matter was left there。 But Ursula considered herself free
to act。 For some days she made no move。 She was reluctant to
take the cruel step of finding work； for she shrank with extreme
sensitiveness and shyness from new contact； new situations。 Then
at length a sort of doggedness drove her。 Her soul was full of
bitterness。
She went to the Free Library in Ilkeston； copied out
addresses from the Schoolmistress； and wrote for
application forms。 After two days she rose early to meet the
postman。 As she expected； there were three long envelopes。
Her heart beat painfully as she went up with them to her
bedroom。 Her fingers trembled； she could hardly force herself to
look at the long； official forms she had to fill in。 The whole
thing was so cruel； so impersonal。 Yet it must be done。
〃Name （surname first）：。。。〃
In a trembling hand she wrote； 〃Brangwen；Ursula。〃
〃Age and date of birth：。。。〃
After a long time considering； she filled in that line。
〃Qualifications； with date of Examination：。。。〃
With a little pride she wrote：
〃London Matriculation Examination。〃
〃Previous experience and where obtained：。。。〃
Her heart sank as she wrote：
〃None。〃
Still there was much to answer。 It took her two hours to fill
in the three forms。 Then she had to copy her testimonials from
her headmistress and from the clergyman。
At last； however； it was finished。 She had sealed the three
long envelopes。 In the afternoon she went down to Ilkeston to
post them。 She said nothing of it all to her parents。 As she
stamped her long letters and put them into the box at the main
postoffice she felt as if already she was out of the reach of
her father and mother； as if she had connected herself with the
outer； greater world of activity； the manmade world。
As she returned home； she dreamed again in her own fashion
her old； geous dreams。 One of her applications was to
Gillingham； in Kent； one to KingstononThames； and one to
Swanwick in Derbyshire。
Gillingham was such a lovely name； and Kent was the Garden of
England。 So that； in Gillingham； an old； old village by the
hopfields； where the sun shone softly； she came out of school in
the afternoon into the shadow of the plane tre