d not disturb his thoughts.

Up till then Michael's thoughts had not done him any good. They had been
bitter thoughts of the months he had been compelled to waste in Bavaria
when every minute had an incomparable value; worrying, irritating
thoughts of the scenes he would have to have with his father, who must
be made to understand, once for all, that in future he meant to have
every minute of his own life for his own work. He wondered how on earth
he was to make his people see that his work justified his giving every
minute to it. He had asked Reveillaud to give him a letter that he could
show to his father. He was angry with his father beforehand, he was so
certain that he wouldn't see.

He had other thoughts now. Thoughts of an almond tree flowering in a
white town; of pink blossoms, fragile, without leaves, casting a thin
shadow on white stones; the smell of almond flowers and the sting of
white dust in an east wind; a drift of white dust against the wall.

Thoughts of pine-trees falling in the forest, glad to fall. He thought:
The pine forest makes itself a sea for the land wind, and the young pine
tree is mad for the open sea. She gives her slender trunk with passion
to the ax; for she thinks that she will be stripped naked, and that she
will be planted in the ship's hold, and that she will carry the great
main-sail. She thinks that she will rock and strain in the grip of the
sea-wind, and that she will be whitened with the salt and the foam
of the sea.

She does not know that she will be sawn into planks and made into a
coffin for the wife of the sexton and grave-digger of Aschaffenburg.

Thoughts of Veronica in her incredible maturity, and of her eyes,
shining in her dead white face, far back through deep crystal, and of
the sense he got of her soul poised, steady and still, with wings
vibrating.

He wondered where it would come down.

He thought: "Of course, Veronica's soul will come down like a wild
pigeon into the ash-tree in our garden, and she will think that our
ash-tree is a tree of Heaven."

* * * * *

Presently he roused himself to talk to her.

"How is your singing getting on, Ronny?"

"My singing voice has gone."

"It'll come back again."

"Not unless-"

But he couldn't make her tell him what would bring it back.

* * * * *

When Michael came to his father and mother to have it out with them his
face had a hard, stubborn