s with child. There
was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her
soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much,
though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to
bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite
her husband with herself, in a child.

She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She
wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling,
intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and
unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a
waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in
the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about
heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh,
most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to
her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and
still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied
her.

So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was
chilled. She went down to the Marsh.

"Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the
first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?"

The tears came at the touch of his careful love.

"Nothing," she said.

"Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said.

"He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate
itself.

"Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father.

She was silent.

"You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her
father; "all about nowt."

"He isn't miserable," she said.

"I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him
as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my
lass."

"I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted.

"Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are."

She laughed a little.

"You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she
cried. "I don't."

"We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do
you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond."

This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that
she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like
a fish in a pond.

Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking
casually.

"Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not
waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't
expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important
thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you
must create. You mustn't expect i