从那以后，每次这人来，保罗都用好奇而挑剔的眼光看着他，但不等碰上铁匠的眼光，他就赶紧把眼光移到别处，这让道伍斯怒火万丈。他们彼此怀恨在心。

    克莱拉·道伍斯没有孩子。她离开丈夫后，这个家也崩溃了。她在娘家住着。道伍斯住在他姐姐家里，同住的还有他弟媳妇，保罗不知怎么了解到那个姑娘——露伊·特拉弗斯现在已成了道伍斯的情妇了。她是个漂亮而傲慢的轻佻女人，喜欢嘲弄保罗。然而，要是他在她回家时陪她走到车站，她却满心欢喜。

    保罗又去看米丽亚姆，是在星斯六的晚上。她在起居室里生了火，正等着他呢。除了她父母和小弟弟以外，其余的都出去了。因此，起居室里只有他俩。这间长形的房子低低的，很暖和。墙上挂着保罗的三幅素描。壁炉架上挂着他的像片，桌子上 和那只花梨木立式旧钢琴上放着几盆五颜六色的花卉。他坐在扶手椅上，她蹲在他脚边的炉边地毯上。火光映着她漂亮、沉思的脸庞，她跪在那儿就像个信徒。

    “你觉得道伍斯太太这人怎么样？”她平静地问道。

    “她看上去不太亲切。”他回答。

    “不是，你不觉得她是一个漂亮的女人吗？”她声音低沉地说。

    “是的——从外表来看，但没有一点审美观。我喜欢她某些方面。她这人很难相处吗？”

    “我觉得不难，但我觉得她有些失意。”

    “为什么而失意？”

    “嗯——如果你跟这样一个男人过一辈子，你会怎么样？”

    “她这么快就改变了主意，那么她为什么要跟他结婚？”

    “唉，她为什么要嫁给他？”米丽亚姆痛苦地重复着。

    “我原来以为她够厉害的了，可以配得上他。”他说。米丽亚姆低下了头。

    “哦，”她有些挖苦地问，“你为什么会这么想？”

    “看她的嘴——充满热情——还有那仰着脖子的样子……”他头向后仰着，模仿着克莱拉目空一切的样子。

    米丽亚姆把头埋得更低了。

    “是啊，”她说。

    他心想着克莱拉的事，屋子里一片沉默。

    “那么，你喜欢她的哪些方面？”她问。

    “我不知道——她的皮肤和她的肌肉——还 有她的——我也不知道——她身上不知哪儿有一股凶气。我是从一个艺术家的角度来欣赏她的，仅此而已。”

    “哦，是这样。”

    他不知道米丽亚姆为什么这么怪模怪样地蹲在那儿想心事，这让他十分反感。

    “你并不是真的喜欢她，对吧？”他问姑娘。

    她那双大大的黑眼睛迷惑不解地看着他。

    “我喜欢她。”她说，

    “你不喜欢——你不会喜欢——这不是真的。”

    “那又怎么样？”她慢慢地问。

    “哦，我不知道——也许你喜欢她，因为她对男人都怀恨在心。”

    其实这倒很可能是他自己喜欢道伍斯太太的一个原因，不过他没想到这一点。他俩都默不作声。他习惯性地皱起眉头，特别是当他和米丽亚姆在一起的时候。她很想把他皱起的眉头抹平，他的皱眉让她感到害怕，这看上去好象是保罗·莫瑞尔身上显露出的一个不属于她的男人的标志。

    花盆里的叶丛中结着一些深红色的浆果。他伸手摘了一串果子。

    “即使你把这些红浆果戴在头上，”他说，“为什么你依旧看上去像一个女巫或尼姑，而根本不像一个寻求快乐的人？”

    她带着一丝毫不掩饰的痛苦笑了笑。

    “我不知道。”她说。

    他那双有力而温暖的手正激动地摆弄着那串浆果。

    “你为什么不能放声笑？”他说，“你从来没有大笑过，你只是看见什么稀奇古怪的事才笑，而且，好像还笑得不够痛快淋漓。

    她好像在接受他的责备似的低着头。

    “我希望你能对我尽情地笑笑，哪怕笑一分钟也好——只要笑一分钟。我觉得这样就会让什么东西得到解脱。”

    “可是……”她抬起头来看着 他，眼睛里充满恐惧和挣扎的神情，“我是对你笑着啊——我是这样的啊！”

    “从来没有，你的笑里总带着一种紧张不安的神情，你每次发 笑时，我总是想哭，你的笑里像流露着你内心的痛苦。哦，你让我的灵魂都皱起了眉头，冥思苦想。”

    她绝望地轻轻地摇了摇头。

    “我发誓我并不想那么笑。”她说。

    “和你在一起，我总觉得自己有种罪孽感。”他大声说。

    她仍然默默地思考着。“你为什么不能改变一下呢？”他看着她蹲在那里沉思的身影， 他整个人好像被撕成了两半。

    “难怪，现在是秋天，每个人都感觉像个游魂似的。”

    又是一阵沉默。他们之间这种不正常的伤感气氛使她的灵魂都在战栗。 他那双黑眼睛多么美啊，看上去就像一口深井。

    “你让我变得这么神圣！”他伤心地说，“可我不想变得如此神圣。”

    她突然把手指从唇边拿开，用挑战的神情看着他。但从她那大大的黑眼睛里仍然可以看出她赤裸的灵魂，身上依然闪现着那种渴望的魅力。他早就该怀着超然纯洁的心情吻她。但他无法这样吻她——她似乎也不容他有别的念头，而她内心则渴求着他。

    他短促地笑了一声。

    “好了，”他说，“把法语书拿来，咱们学一点——学一点韦莱纳的作品吧。”

    “好的，”她无可奈何地低低地应了一声，站起身来去拿书。

    她那双发红而战战兢兢的手看上去可怜极了。他想疯狂地安慰她、吻她。然而他却不敢——也不能。仿佛什么东西在阻隔着他。他不应该吻她。他们就这么念书念到夜里十点，等他们进了厨房，保罗又神态自然、轻松愉快地和米丽亚姆的父母在一起了，他的黑眼睛闪闪发亮，给他增添了无穷的魅力。

    他走进马厩，去推自行车时，发现前轮胎被刺破了。

    “给我端碗水来，”他对她说。“我要回去晚了，会挨骂的。”

    他点上防风灯；脱下风衣，把自行车翻了过来，匆匆地开始修补。米丽亚姆端来一碗水，挨着他站着，凝望着他。她很喜欢看他的手干活时的样子。他削瘦但很有力，匆忙而从容不迫。他忙着干活，仿佛已经忘记了她的存在。她却一心一意地爱着他。她想用双手去抚摸他的身体。只要他没有渴求她的念头，她就总是想着拥抱他。

    “好了！”他说着突然站起身来，“喂，你能干的比我更快一点吗？”

    “不行。”她笑了。

    他背对着她，挺直身体，她双手抚摸着他身体两侧，很快摸了一下。

    “你真漂亮！”她说。

    他笑了，有些厌恶她的声音。可是，她的双手一抚摸，他浑身即刻热血沸腾起来。她似乎没有意识到他的这些感觉。她从来没有意识到他是个男人，仿佛他只是个无欲无情的实物。

    他点上自行车灯，把车子在马厩的地板上颠了几下，试试轮胎是不是补好了。然后，扣上了外衣。

    “好了！”他说。

    她试了试车间，她知道车问已经坏了。

    “你没有修修车问吗？”她问。

    “没有。”

    “为什么不修一下呢？”

    “后问还可以用。”

    “但这不安全。”

    “我可以用脚尖来刹车。”

    “我希望你修修。”她低声说。

    “放心好了——明天来喝茶吧， 和艾德加一起来。”

    “我们？”

    “对——大约四点钟，我来接你们。”

    “太好了。”

    她开心极了。他们穿过黑黑的院子， 走到门口。回头望去，只见没挂窗帘的厨房窗户里，雷渥斯夫妇的头在暖融融的炉光里映了 出来。看上去舒服温馨极了。前面那条两旁有松树掩隐的大路，伸向沉沉黑夜之中。

    “明天见。”他说着跳上自行车。

    “你可要小心点啊，好吗？”她恳求地说。

    “好的。”

    他的声音消失在黑暗之中。她站了一会儿，目送着他的车灯一路穿进黑暗中去，这才慢慢地走进门。猎户座群星在树林上空盘旋，它的犬星紧跟在后面闪着光，时隐时现。除了牛栏里牛的喘息声，四周一片黑暗，万籁俱寂。她虔诚地为他晚上的平安而祈祷。每次他离开她之后，她都忧心忡忡地躺着，不知道他是否平安 到家了。

    他骑着自行车顺着山坡冲了下来，道路泥泞，他只好听任车子往前冲。当车子冲上第二个陡坡时，他感到一阵轻讼愉快。“加油！”他说，这可真够冒险的。因为山脚漆黑一片，弯弯曲曲，有些醉醺醺的司机昏昏沉沉地开着酒厂的货车。他的自行车好象都要把他弹下来似的。他喜欢这种感觉，玩命冒险是男人报复女人的一种方法。他感到自己不被珍视，所以他要冒险毁了自己，让她也落个空。

    他飞驰过湖边，湖面上的星星像蚱蜢似的蹦跳着在黑暗中闪着银光。爬过一段长长的上坡就到家了。

    “瞧，妈妈。”他说着把带叶的浆果扔到了她面前的桌上。

    “呣！”她说着瞟了一眼浆果，就移开视线。她依旧像往常那样坐在那里看书。

    “好看吗？”

    “好看。”

    他知道她对他有些不满，几分钟后他说：“艾德加和米丽亚姆明天要来吃茶点。”

    她没回答。

    “你不介意吧？”

    她仍然没有答理。

    “你介意吗？”他问。

    “你 知道我是不会介意的。”

    “我不明白你为什么这样，我在他们家吃过好多次饭了。”

    “是的。”

    “那么你为什么不肯请他们吃茶点？”

    “我不肯请谁吃茶点？”

    “那你为什么这么反感呢？”

    “噢，别 说了！你已经请她来吃茶点了，这就够了，她会来的。”

    他对母亲非常生气，他知道她只是不喜欢米丽亚姆，他甩掉靴子上了床。

    保罗第二天下午去接他的朋友。他很高兴看见他们到来。他们大约四点左右到了保罗家。星期天的下午到处都干干净净，一片宁静。莫瑞尔太太穿着一身黑衣，系一条黑围裙坐在那里。她起身迎客时，对艾德加倒还亲切，但对米丽亚姆却有些冷淡，态度勉强。然而，保罗却认为这姑娘穿棕色开司米外套格外漂亮。

    他帮妈妈把茶点准备好。米丽亚姆本来很想帮忙，但她有些害怕。他对自己的家感到自豪。他的心里想，这个家有一种特色。虽然只有几把木制椅子，沙发也是旧的，可是炉边地毯和靠垫都非常舒适，墙上的画也相当雅致，很有品味。一切都显得简单朴素，还有很多书。他从来没有为家感到羞愧过，米丽亚姆也没有。因为两个家都保持着自己的特色，而且都很温馨。保罗也为这桌茶点感到自豪，饮具十分精致，台布也非常漂亮，虽然汤匙不是银的，餐刀也没有象牙柄。但那也无伤大雅。每样东西看起来都很惬意。莫瑞尔太太在等待孩子们长大的这漫 长的岁月里，把家操持得井井有条，一丝不苟。

    米丽亚姆谈论了一会书籍。这是她百谈不厌的话题。但莫瑞尔太太没有多大的热情，很快她就转向艾德加了。

    起初，艾德加和米丽亚姆到教堂时，常坐在莫瑞尔大大的那排长凳上。莫瑞尔从来不去做礼拜，他宁愿去酒店。莫瑞尔太太，看起来像个凯旋而归的首领，端坐在长凳的首座。保罗坐在另一头。刚开始，米丽亚姆总是挨着保罗坐。那时，礼拜堂就像家一样，是个可爱的地方，有黑色的长凳，细长雅致的柱子，还有鲜花。在保罗还小的时候，这些人就坐在自己的老位置上。对 他来说，坐在米丽亚姆身边，靠近母亲，这样坐上一个半小时，在教堂的魔力感召下把两人的爱联在一起，那真是非常甜美舒畅的享受。他因此觉得温暖、幸福和虔诚。礼拜结束后，他陪米丽亚姆走回家去，莫瑞尔太太跟老朋友伯累斯太太一起度过傍晚的时光。星期天晚上，他跟艾德加 和米丽亚姆一起散步的时候，总是非常活跃。每当晚上，他路过矿井，路过亮着灯的矿井室，看见又黑又高的吊车和一排排卡车驶去，经过像黑影一般慢慢转的风扇时，感觉 到米丽亚姆会返回来找他。他想得几乎无法忍受。

    米丽亚姆和莫瑞尔家人坐同一长凳的时间并不长，因为她父亲又重新为他们自己占了专座。就在小长廊下面， 和莫瑞尔家的座位正好相对。保罗和母亲来到教堂时，雷渥斯家的座位总是空着。他内心焦急，生怕她不来，路途太远，星期天又常常下雨，她的确经常来得很晚，她低着头大步走进来，深绿色的丝绒帽遮住脸。她坐在对面，那张脸恰好被阴影遮住。不过这倒给他一种非常深的印象，仿佛看到她在那儿，他的整个灵魂都会激动起来。这与母亲呵护他的那种幸福、喜悦和自豪是不一样的。这是一种更奇妙的心境，不同寻常，像剧痛的感觉，仿佛这之间有什么他无法得到的东西。

    就在这个时候，他开始探索正统的教义。他二十一岁，她二十岁。她开始害怕春天到来，他那么疯狂，深深地伤了她的感情。他的所做所为都残忍地粉碎了她的信念。艾德加对此十分赞赏。他天生挑剔而冷静。但是米丽亚姆感到非常痛苦，因为她所爱的人正在用尖刀一样锋利的智慧审视着她所信仰的宗教，而且这信仰是她生活、行动以至生命的信托。但他不放过她，他真狠心。他们两人单独在一起时，他甚至更加凶狠，仿佛他要杀了她的灵魂。他鞭答着她的信仰，以至她几乎都失去清醒的意识。

     Since that time the boy used to look at the man every timehe came through with the same curious criticism, glancing awaybefore he met the smith's eye. It made Dawes furious. They hatedeach other in silence.
　　Clara Dawes had no children. When she had left her husband thehome had been broken up, and she had gone to live with her mother. Dawes lodged with his sister. In the same house was a sister-in-law, andsomehow Paul knew that this girl, Louie Travers, was now Dawes's woman. She was a handsome, insolent hussy, who mocked at the youth, and yetflushed if he walked along to the station with her as she went home.
　　The next time he went to see Miriam it was Saturday evening. She had a fire in the parlour, and was waiting for him. The others,except her father and mother and the young children, had gone out,so the two had the parlour together. It was a long, low, warm room. There were three of Paul's small sketches on the wall, and his photo wason the mantelpiece. On the table and on the high oldrosewood piano were bowls of coloured leaves. He sat in the armchair,she crouched on the hearthrug near his feet. The glow was warmon her handsome, pensive face as she kneeled there like a devotee.
　　"What did you think of Mrs. Dawes?" she asked quietly.
　　"She doesn't look very amiable," he replied.
　　"No, but don't you think she's a fine woman?" she said,in a deep tone,
　　"Yes--in stature. But without a grain of taste. I like herfor some things. IS she disagreeable?"
　　"I don't think so. I think she's dissatisfied."
　　"What with?"
　　"Well--how would you like to be tied for life to a man like that?"
　　"Why did she marry him, then, if she was to have revulsionsso soon?"
　　"Ay, why did she!" repeated Miriam bitterly.
　　"And I should have thought she had enough fight in herto match him," he said.
　　Miriam bowed her head.
　　"Ay?" she queried satirically. "What makes you think so?"
　　"Look at her mouth--made for passion--and the very setbackof her throat---" He threw his head back in Clara's defiant manner.
　　Miriam bowed a little lower.
　　"Yes," she said.
　　There was a silence for some moments, while he thought of Clara.
　　"And what were the things you liked about her?" she asked.
　　"I don't know--her skin and the texture of her--and her--I don'tknow--there's a sort of fierceness somewhere in her. I appreciateher as an artist, that's all."
　　"Yes."
　　He wondered why Miriam crouched there brooding in that strange way. It irritated him.
　　"You don't really like her, do you?" he asked the girl.
　　She looked at him with her great, dazzled dark eyes.
　　"I do," she said.
　　"You don't--you can't--not really."
　　"Then what?" she asked slowly.
　　"Eh, I don't know--perhaps you like her because she's got a grudgeagainst men."
　　That was more probably one of his own reasons for likingMrs. Dawes, but this did not occur to him. They were silent. There had come into his forehead a knitting of the brows which wasbecoming habitual with him, particularly when he was with Miriam. She longed to smooth it away, and she was afraid of it. It seemedthe stamp of a man who was not her man in Paul Morel.
　　There were some crimson berries among the leaves in the bowl. He reached over and pulled out a bunch.
　　"If you put red berries in your hair," he said, "why wouldyou look like some witch or priestess, and never like a reveller?"
　　She laughed with a naked, painful sound.
　　"I don't know," she said.
　　His vigorous warm hands were playing excitedly with the berries.
　　"Why can't you laugh?" he said. "You never laugh laughter. You only laugh when something is odd or incongruous, and then italmost seems to hurt you."
　　She bowed her head as if he were scolding her.
　　"I wish you could laugh at me just for one minute--justfor one minute. I feel as if it would set something free."
　　"But"--and she looked up at him with eyes frightenedand struggling--"I do laugh at you--I DO."
　　"Never! There's always a kind of intensity. When you laughI could always cry; it seems as if it shows up your suffering. Oh, you make me knit the brows of my very soul and cogitate."
　　Slowly she shook her head despairingly.
　　"I'm sure I don't want to," she said.
　　"I'm so damned spiritual with YOU always!" he cried.
　　She remained silent, thinking, "Then why don't you be otherwise." But he saw her crouching, brooding figure, and it seemed to tearhim in two.
　　"But, there, it's autumn," he said, "and everybody feelslike a disembodied spirit then."
　　There was still another silence. This peculiar sadnessbetween them thrilled her soul. He seemed so beautiful with hiseyes gone dark, and looking as if they were deep as the deepest well.
　　"You make me so spiritual!" he lamented. "And I don't wantto be spiritual."
　　She took her finger from her mouth with a little pop, and lookedup at him almost challenging. But still her soul was naked in hergreat dark eyes, and there was the same yearning appeal upon her. If he could have kissed her in abstract purity he would have done so. But he could not kiss her thus--and she seemed to leave no other way. And she yearned to him.
　　He gave a brief laugh.
　　"Well," he said, "get that French and we'll do some--some Verlaine."
　　"Yes," she said in a deep tone, almost of resignation. And she rose and got the books. And her rather red, nervous handslooked so pitiful, he was mad to comfort her and kiss her. But thenbe dared not--or could not. There was something prevented him. His kisses were wrong for her. They continued the reading till teno'clock, when they went into the kitchen, and Paul was natural and jollyagain with the father and mother. His eyes were dark and shining;there was a kind of fascination about him.
　　When he went into the barn for his bicycle he found the frontwheel punctured.
　　"Fetch me a drop of water in a bowl," he said to her. "I shall be late, and then I s'll catch it."
　　He lighted the hurricane lamp, took off his coat, turned upthe bicycle, and set speedily to work. Miriam came with the bowlof water and stood close to him, watching. She loved to seehis hands doing things. He was slim and vigorous, with a kindof easiness even in his most hasty movements. And busy at his workhe seemed to forget her. She loved him absorbedly. She wantedto run her hands down his sides. She always wanted to embrace him,so long as he did not want her.
　　"There!" he said, rising suddenly. "Now, could you have doneit quicker?"
　　"No!" she laughed.
　　He straightened himself. His back was towards her. She puther two hands on his sides, and ran them quickly down.
　　"You are so FINE!" she said.
　　He laughed, hating her voice, but his blood roused to a waveof flame by her hands. She did not seem to realise HIM in all this. He might have been an object. She never realised the male he was.
　　He lighted his bicycle-lamp, bounced the machine on the barnfloor to see that the tyres were sound, and buttoned his coat.
　　"That's all right!" he said.
　　She was trying the brakes, that she knew were broken.
　　"Did you have them mended?" she asked.
　　"No!"
　　"But why didn't you?"
　　"The back one goes on a bit."
　　"But it's not safe."
　　"I can use my toe."
　　"I wish you'd had them mended," she murmured.
　　"Don't worry--come to tea tomorrow, with Edgar."
　　"Shall we?"
　　"Do--about four. I'll come to meet you."
　　"Very well."
　　She was pleased. They went across the dark yard to the gate. Looking across, he saw through the uncurtained window of thekitchen the heads of Mr. and Mrs. Leivers in the warm glow. It looked very cosy. The road, with pine trees, was quite blackin front.
　　"Till tomorrow," he said, jumping on his bicycle.
　　"You'll take care, won't you?" she pleaded.
　　"Yes."
　　His voice already came out of the darkness. She stood a momentwatching the light from his lamp race into obscurity along the ground. She turned very slowly indoors. Orion was wheeling up over the wood,his dog twinkling after him, half smothered. For the rest the worldwas full of darkness, and silent, save for the breathing of cattlein their stalls. She prayed earnestly for his safety that night. When he left her, she often lay in anxiety, wondering if he had gothome safely.
　　He dropped down the hills on his bicycle. The roads were greasy,so he had to let it go. He felt a pleasure as the machine plungedover the second, steeper drop in the hill. "Here goes!" he said. It was risky, because of the curve in the darkness at the bottom,and because of the brewers' waggons with drunken waggoners asleep. His bicycle seemed to fall beneath him, and he loved it. Recklessness is almost a man's revenge on his woman. He feels he is not valued, so he will risk destroying himself todeprive.

       The stars on the lake seemed to leap like grasshoppers,silver upon the blackness, as he spun past. Then there was the longclimb home.
　　"See, mother!" he said, as he threw her the berries and leaveson to the table.
　　"H'm!" she said, glancing at them, then away again. She sat reading, alone, as she always did.
　　"Aren't they pretty?"
　　"Yes."
　　He knew she was cross with him. After a few minutes he said:
　　"Edgar and Miriam are coming to tea tomorrow."
　　She did not answer.
　　"You don't mind?"
　　Still she did not answer.
　　"Do you?" he asked.
　　"You know whether I mind or not."
　　"I don't see why you should. I have plenty of meals there."
　　"You do."
　　"Then why do you begrudge them tea?"
　　"I begrudge whom tea?"
　　"What are you so horrid for?"
　　"Oh, say no more! You've asked her to tea, it's quite sufficient. She'll come."
　　He was very angry with his mother. He knew it was merelyMiriam she objected to. He flung off his boots and went to bed.
　　Paul went to meet his friends the next afternoon. He was gladto see them coming. They arrived home at about four o'clock.Everywhere was clean and still for Sunday afternoon. Mrs. Morel satin her black dress and black apron. She rose to meet the visitors. With Edgar she was cordial, but with Miriam cold and rather grudging. Yet Paul thought the girl looked so nice in her brown cashmere frock.
　　He helped his mother to get the tea ready. Miriam would havegladly proffered, but was afraid. He was rather proud of his home. There was about it now, he thought, a certain distinction. The chairs were only wooden, and the sofa was old. But the hearthrugand cushions were cosy; the pictures were prints in good taste;there was a simplicity in everything, and plenty of books. He was never ashamed in the least of his home, nor was Miriamof hers, because both were what they should be, and warm. And then he was proud of the table; the china was pretty,the cloth was fine. It did not matter that the spoons were notsilver nor the knives ivory-handled; everything looked nice. Mrs. Morel had managed wonderfully while her children were growing up,so that nothing was out of place.
　　Miriam talked books a little. That was her unfailing topic. But Mrs. Morel was not cordial, and turned soon to Edgar.
　　At first Edgar and Miriam used to go into Mrs. Morel's pew. Morel never went to chapel, preferring the public-house. Mrs. Morel,like a little champion, sat at the head of her pew, Paul at the other end;and at first Miriam sat next to him. Then the chapel was like home. It was a pretty place, with dark pews and slim, elegant pillars,and flowers. And the same people had sat in the same places eversince he was a boy. It was wonderfully sweet and soothing to sitthere for an hour and a half, next to Miriam, and near to his mother,uniting his two loves under the spell of the place of worship. Then he felt warm and happy and religious at once. And afterchapel he walked home with Miriam, whilst Mrs. Morel spent the restof the evening with her old friend, Mrs. Burns. He was keenlyalive on his walks on Sunday nights with Edgar and Miriam. He never went past the pits at night, by the lighted lamp-house,the tall black headstocks and lines of trucks, past the fans spinningslowly like shadows, without the feeling of Miriam returning to him,keen and almost unbearable.
　　She did not very long occupy the Morels' pew. Her father tookone for themselves once more. It was under the little gallery,opposite the Morels'. When Paul and his mother came in the chapelthe Leivers's pew was always empty. He was anxious for fear she wouldnot come: it was so far, and there were so many rainy Sundays. Then, often very late indeed, she came in, with her long stride,her head bowed, her face hidden under her bat of dark green velvet. Her face, as she sat opposite, was always in shadow. But it gavehim a very keen feeling, as if all his soul stirred within him,to see her there. It was not the same glow, happiness, and pride,that he felt in having his mother in charge: something morewonderful, less human, and tinged to intensity by a pain,as if there were something he could not get to.
　　At this time he was beginning to question the orthodox creed. He was twenty-one, and she was twenty. She was beginningto dread the spring: he became so wild, and hurt her so much. All the way he went cruelly smashing her beliefs. Edgar enjoyed it. He was by nature critical and rather dispassionate. But Miriamsuffered exquisite pain, as, with an intellect like a knife, the manshe loved examined her religion in which she lived and moved and hadher being. But he did not spare her. He was cruel. And when theywent alone he was even more fierce, as if he would kill her soul. He bled her beliefs till she almost lost consciousness.