n a world of hard
surfaces and varying altitudes, it lay vulnerable and naked at
every point. Yet it was quite blithe. And yet, in its blind,
awful crying, was there not the blind, far-off terror of its own
vulnerable nakedness, the terror of being so utterly delivered
over, helpless at every point. He could not bear to hear it
crying. His heart strained and stood on guard against the whole
universe.

But he waited for the dread of these days to pass; he saw the
joy coming. He saw the lovely, creamy, cool little ear of the
baby, a bit of dark hair rubbed to a bronze floss, like
bronze-dust. And he waited, for the child to become his, to look
at him and answer him.

It had a separate being, but it was his own child. His flesh
and blood vibrated to it. He caught the baby to his breast with
his passionate, clapping laugh. And the infant knew him.

As the newly-opened, newly-dawned eyes looked at him, he
wanted them to perceive him, to recognize him. Then he was
verified. The child knew him, a queer contortion of laughter
came on its face for him. He caught it to his breast, clapping
with a triumphant laugh.

The golden-brown eyes of the child gradually lit up and
dilated at the sight of the dark-glowing face of the youth. It
knew its mother better, it wanted its mother more. But the
brightest, sharpest little ecstasy was for the father.

It began to be strong, to move vigorously and freely, to make
sounds like words. It was a baby girl now. Already it knew his
strong hands, it exulted in his strong clasp, it laughed and
crowed when he played with it.

And his heart grew red--hot with passionate feeling for
the child. She was not much more than a year old when the second
baby was born. Then he took Ursula for his own. She his first
little girl. He had set his heart on her.

The second had dark blue eyes and a fair skin: it was more a
Brangwen, people said. The hair was fair. But they forgot Anna's
stiff blonde fleece of childhood. They called the newcomer
Gudrun.

This time, Anna was stronger, and not so eager. She did not
mind that the baby was not a boy. It was enough that she had
milk and could suckle her child: Oh, oh, the bliss of the little
life sucking the milk of her body! Oh, oh, oh the bliss, as the
infant grew stronger, of the two tiny hands clutching, catching
blindly yet passionately at her breast, of the tiny mouth
seeking her in blind, sure, vital knowledge, of the sudden
consummate peace as th