w a second lieutenant in a Field Troop. He would
have a few days off shortly, and would come to the Marsh for the
wedding.

Fred Brangwen was going to marry a schoolmistress out of
Ilkeston as soon as corn-harvest was at an end.

The dim blue-and-gold of a hot, sweet autumn saw the close of
the corn-harvest. To Ursula, it was as if the world had opened
its softest purest flower, its chicory flower, its meadow
saffron. The sky was blue and sweet, the yellow leaves down the
lane seemed like free, wandering flowers as they chittered round
the feet, making a keen, poignant, almost unbearable music to
her heart. And the scents of autumn were like a summer madness
to her. She fled away from the little, purple-red
button-chrysanthemums like a frightened dryad, the bright yellow
little chrysanthemums smelled so strong, her feet seemed to
dither in a drunken dance.

Then her Uncle Tom appeared, always like the cynical Bacchus
in the picture. He would have a jolly wedding, a harvest supper
and a wedding feast in one: a tent in the home close, and a band
for dancing, and a great feast out of doors.

Fred demurred, but Tom must be satisfied. Also Laura, a
handsome, clever girl, the bride, she also must have a great and
jolly feast. It appealed to her educated sense. She had been to
Salisbury Training College, knew folk-songs and
morris-dancing.

So the preparations were begun, directed by Tom Brangwen. A
marquee was set up on the home close, two large bonfires were
prepared. Musicians were hired, feast made ready.

Skrebensky was to come, arriving in the morning. Ursula had a
new white dress of soft crepe, and a white hat. She liked to
wear white. With her black hair and clear golden skin, she
looked southern, or rather tropical, like a Creole. She wore no
colour whatsoever.

She trembled that day as she appeared to go down to the
wedding. She was to be a bridesmaid. Skrebensky would not arrive
till afternoon. The wedding was at two o'clock.

As the wedding-party returned home, Skrebensky stood in the
parlour at the Marsh. Through the window he saw Tom Brangwen,
who was best man, coming up the garden path most elegant in
cut-away coat and white slip and spats, with Ursula laughing on
his arm. Tom Brangwen was handsome, with his womanish colouring
and dark eyes and black close-cut moustache. But there was
something subtly coarse and suggestive about him for all his
beauty; his strange, bestial nostrils opened so hard a