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gossamer　blown　across　her　eyes；　there　was　a　dread　for　her。

She　was　afraid　when　he　came　home　at　night。　As　yet；　her　fear

never　spoke；　the　shadow　never　rushed　upon　her。　He　was　gentle；

humble；　he　kept　himself　withheld。　His　hands　were　delicate　upon

her；　and　she　loved　them。　But　there　ran　through　her　the　thrill；

crisp　as　pain；　for　she　felt　the　darkness　and　other…world　still

in　his　soft；　sheathed　hands。

But　the　summer　drifted　in　with　the　silence　of　a　miracle；　she

was　almost　always　alone。　All　the　while；　went　on　the　long；　lovely

drowsiness；　the　maidenblush　roses　in　the　garden　were　all　shed；

washed　away　in　a　pouring　rain；　summer　drifted　into　autumn；　and

the　long；　vague；　golden　days　began　to　close。　Crimson　clouds

fumed　about　the　west；　and　as　night　came　on；　all　the　sky　was

fuming　and　steaming；　and　the　moon；　far　above　the　swiftness　of

vapours；　was　white；　bleared；　the　night　was　uneasy。　Suddenly　the

moon　would　appear　at　a　clear　window　in　the　sky；　looking　down

from　far　above；　like　a　captive。　And　Anna　did　not　sleep。　There

was　a　strange；　dark　tension　about　her　husband。

She　became　aware　that　he　was　trying　to　force　his　will　upon

her；　something；　there　was　something　he　wanted；　as　he　lay　there

dark　and　tense。　And　her　soul　sighed　in　weariness。

Everything　was　so　vague　and　lovely；　and　he　wanted　to　wake　her

up　to　the　hard；　hostile　reality。　She　drew　back　in　resistance。

Still　he　said　nothing。　But　she　felt　his　power　persisting　on　her；

till　she　became　aware　of　the　strain；　she　cried　out　against　the

exhaustion。　He　was　forcing　her；　he　was　forcing　her。　And　she

wanted　so　much　the　joy　and　the　vagueness　and　the　innocence　of

her　pregnancy。　She　did　not　want　his　bitter…corrosive　love；　she

did　not　want　it　poured　into　her；　to　burn　her。　Why　must　she　have

it？　Why；　oh；　why　was　he　not　content；　contained？

She　sat　many　hours　by　the　window；　in　those　days　when　he　drove

her　most　with　the　black　constraint　of　his　will；　and　she　watched

the　rain　falling　on　the　yew　trees。　She　was　not　sad；　only

wistful；　blanched。　The　child　under　her　heart　was　a　perpetual

warmth。　And　she　was　sure。　The　pressure　was　only　upon　her　from

the　outside；　her　soul　had　no　stripes。

Yet　in　her　heart　itself　was　always　this　same　strain；　tense；

anxious。　She　was　not　safe；　she　was　always　exposed；　she　was

always　attacked。　There　was　a　yearning　in　her　for　a　fulness　of

peace　and　blessedness。　What　a　heavy　yearning　it　was……so

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