小说园

第41部分（第6页）

Still　she　set　towards　him　like　a　quivering　needle。　All　her

life　was　directed　by　her　awareness　of　him；　her　wakefulness　to

his　being。　And　she　was　against　her　mother。

Her　father　was　the　dawn　wherein　her　consciousness　woke　up。

But　for　him；　she　might　have　gone　on　like　the　other　children；

Gudrun　and　Theresa　and　Catherine；　one　with　the　flowers　and

insects　and　playthings；　having　no　existence　apart　from　the

concrete　object　of　her　attention。　But　her　father　came　too　near

to　her。　The　clasp　of　his　hands　and　the　power　of　his　breast　woke

her　up　almost　in　pain　from　the　transient　unconsciousness　of

childhood。　Wide…eyed；　unseeing；　she　was　awake　before　she　knew

how　to　see。　She　was　wakened　too　soon。　Too　soon　the　call　had　e

to　her；　when　she　was　a　small　baby；　and　her　father　held　her　close

to　his　breast；　her　sleep…living　heart　was　beaten　into

wakefulness　by　the　striving　of　his　bigger　heart；　by　his　clasping

her　to　his　body　for　love　and　for　fulfilment；　asking　as　a　magnet

must　always　ask。　From　her　the　response　had　struggled　dimly；

vaguely　into　being。

The　children　were　dressed　roughly　for　the　country。　When　she

was　little；　Ursula　pattered　about　in　little　wooden　clogs；　a　blue

overall　over　her　thick　red　dress；　a　red　shawl　crossed　on　her

breast　and　tied　behind　again。　So　she　ran　with　her　father　to　the

garden。

The　household　rose　early。　He　was　out　digging　by　six　oclock

in　the　morning；　he　went　to　his　work　at　half…past　eight。　And

Ursula　was　usually　in　the　garden　with　him；　though　not　near　at

hand。

At　Eastertime　one　year；　she　helped　him　to　set　potatoes。　It

was　the　first　time　she　had　ever　helped　him。　The　occasion

remained　as　a　picture；　one　of　her　earliest　memories。　They　had

gone　out　soon　after　dawn。　A　cold　wind　was　blowing。　He　had　his