and tremulous wonder of consummation.

The next morning, when they woke up, it had snowed. He
wondered what was the strange pallor in the air, and the unusual
tang. Snow was on the grass and the window-sill, it weighed down
the black, ragged branches of the yews, and smoothed the graves
in the churchyard.

Soon, it began to snow again, and they were shut in. He was
glad, for then they were immune in a shadowy silence, there was
no world, no time.

The snow lasted for some days. On the Sunday they went to
church. They made a line of footprints across the garden, he
left a flat snowprint of his hand on the wall as he vaulted
over, they traced the snow across the churchyard. For three days
they had been immune in a perfect love.

There were very few people in church, and she was glad. She
did not care much for church. She had never questioned any
beliefs, and she was, from habit and custom, a regular attendant
at morning service. But she had ceased to come with any
anticipation. To-day, however, in the strangeness of snow, after
such consummation of love, she felt expectant again, and
delighted. She was still in the eternal world.

She used, after she went to the High School, and wanted to be
a lady, wanted to fulfil some mysterious ideal, always to listen
to the sermon and to try to gather suggestions. That was all
very well for a while. The vicar told her to be good in this way
and in that. She went away feeling it was her highest aim to
fulfil these injunctions.

But quickly this palled. After a short time, she was not very
much interested in being good. Her soul was in quest of
something, which was not just being good, and doing one's best.
No, she wanted something else: something that was not her
ready-made duty. Everything seemed to be merely a matter of
social duty, and never of her self. They talked about her soul,
but somehow never managed to rouse or to implicate her soul. As
yet her soul was not brought in at all.

So that whilst she had an affection for Mr. Loverseed, the
vicar, and a protective sort of feeling for Cossethay church,
wanting always to help it and defend it, it counted very small
in her life.

Not but that she was conscious of some unsatisfaction. When
her husband was roused by the thought of the churches, then she
became hostile to the ostensible church, she hated it for not
fulfilling anything in her. The Church told her to be good: very
well, she had no idea of contradicting what