ed the baby. But his heart waited in its darkness. His
hour would come.

In the long run, he learned to submit to Anna. She forced him
to the spirit of her laws, whilst leaving him the letter of his
own. She combated in him his devils. She suffered very much from
his inexplicable and incalculable dark rages, when a blackness
filled him, and a black wind seemed to sweep out of existence
everything that had to do with him. She could feel herself,
everything, being annihilated by him.

At first she fought him. At night, in this state, he would
kneel down to say his prayers. She looked at his crouching
figure.

"Why are you kneeling there, pretending to pray?" she said,
harshly. "Do you think anybody can pray, when they are in the
vile temper you are in?"

He remained crouching by the beside, motionless.

"It's horrible," she continued, "and such a pretence! What do
you pretend you are saying? Who do you pretend you are praying
to?"

He still remained motionless, seething with inchoate rage,
when his whole nature seemed to disintegrate. He seemed to live
with a strain upon himself, and occasionally came these dark,
chaotic rages, the lust for destruction. She then fought with
him, and their fights were horrible, murderous. And then the
passion between them came just as black and awful.

But little by little, as she learned to love him better, she
would put herself aside, and when she felt one of his fits upon
him, would ignore him, successfully leave him in his world,
whilst she remained in her own. He had a black struggle with
himself, to come back to her. For at last he learned that he
would be in hell until he came back to her. So he struggled to
submit to her, and she was afraid of the ugly strain in his
eyes. She made love to him, and took him. Then he was grateful
to her love, humble.

He made himself a woodwork shed, in which to restore things
which were destroyed in the church. So he had plenty to do: his
wife, his child, the church, the woodwork, and his wage-earning,
all occupying him. If only there were not some limit to him,
some darkness across his eyes! He had to give in to it at last
himself. He must submit to his own inadequacy, aware of some
limit to himself, of [something unformed in] his own black,
violent temper, and to reckon with it. But as she was more gentle
with him, it became quieter.

As he sat sometimes very still, with a bright, vacant face,
Anna could see the suffering among the