a duster in his hand。 He turned and flapped the cloth hard
across the girls face。 The cloth stung; for a moment the girl
was as if stunned。 Then she remained motionless; her face closed
and stubborn。 But her heart was blazing。 In spite of herself the
tears surged higher; in spite of her they surged higher。
In spite of her; her face broke; she made a curious gulping
grimace; and the tears were falling。 So she went away; desolate。
But her blazing heart was fierce and unyielding。 He watched her
go; and a pleasurable pain filled him; a sense of triumph and
easy power; followed immediately by acute pity。
〃Im sure that was unnecessary……to hit the girl across
the face;〃 said the mother coldly。
〃A flip with the duster wont hurt her;〃 he said。
〃Nor will it do her any good。〃
For days; for weeks; Ursulas heart burned from this rebuff。
She felt so cruelly vulnerable。 Did he not know how vulnerable
she was; how exposed and wincing? He; of all people; knew。 And
he wanted to do this to her。 He wanted to hurt her right through
her closest sensitiveness; he wanted to treat her with shame; to
maim her with insult。
Her heart burnt in isolation; like a watchfire lighted。 She
did not forget; she did not forget; she never forgot。 When she
returned to her love for her father; the seed of mistrust and
defiance burned unquenched; though covered up far from sight。
She no longer belonged to him unquestioned。 Slowly; slowly; the
fire of mistrust and defiance burned in her; burned away her
connection with him。
She ran a good deal alone; having a passion for all moving;
active things。 She loved the little brooks。 Wherever she found a
little running water; she was happy。 It seemed to make her run
and sing in spirit along with it。 She could sit for hours by a
brook or stream; on the roots of the alders; and watch the water
hasten dancing over the stones; or among the twigs of a fallen
branch。 Sometimes; little fish vanished before they had bee