conflict was gone by. And he was glad, and breathless, and almost in tears. But he knew he wanted her. Something fixed in him for ever. He was hers. And he was very glad and afraid. He did not know what to do, as they stood there in the open, moonlit field. He looked through her hair at the moon, which seemed to swim liquid-bright.
She sighed, and seemed to wake up, then she kissed him again. Then she loosened herself away from him and took his hand. It hurt him when she drew away from his breast. It hurt him with a chagrin. Why did she draw away from him? But she held his hand.
“I want to go home,” she said, looking at him in a way he could not understand.
He held close to her hand. He was dazed and he could not move, he did not know how to move. She drew him away.
He walked helplessly beside her, holding her hand. She went with bent head. Suddenly he said, as the simple solution stated itself to him:
“We’ll get married, Anna.”
She was silent.
“We’ll get married, Anna, shall we?”
She stopped in the field again and kissed him, clinging to him passionately, in a way he could not understand. He could not understand. But he left it all now, to marriage. That was the solution now, fixed ahead. He wanted her, he wanted to be married to her, he wanted to have her altogether, as his own for ever. And he waited, intent, for the accomplishment. But there was all the while a slight tension of irritation.
He spoke to his uncle and aunt that night.
“Uncle,” he said, “Anna and me think of getting married.”
“Oh ay!” said Brangwen.
“But how, you have no money?” said the mother.
The youth went pale. He hated these words. But he was like a gleaming, bright pebble, something bright and inalterable. He did not think. He sat there in his hard brightness, and did not speak.
“Have you mentioned it to your own mother?” asked Brangwen.
“No—I’ll tell her on Saturday.”
“You’ll go and see her?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause.
“And what are you going to marry on—your pound a week?”
Again the youth went pale, as if the spirit were being injured in him.
“I don’t know,” he said, looking at his uncle with his bright inhuman eyes, like a hawk’s.
Brangwen stirred in hatred.