d strongly。 Mother and child sat
motionless； silent； the child staring with vacant dark eyes into
the fire； the mother looking into space。 The little girl was
almost asleep。 It was her will which kept her eyes so wide。
Suddenly she looked round； troubled； as the wind shook the
house； and Brangwen saw the small lips move。 The mother began to
rock； he heard the slight crunch of the rockers of the chair。
Then he heard the low； monotonous murmur of a song in a foreign
language。 Then a great burst of wind； the mother seemed to have
drifted away； the child's eyes were black and dilated。 Brangwen
looked up at the clouds which packed in great； alarming haste
across the dark sky。
Then there came the child's high； plaining； yet imperative
voice：
〃Don't sing that stuff； mother； I don't want to hear it。〃
The singing died away。
〃You will go to bed；〃 said the mother。
He saw the clinging protest of the child； the unmoved
farawayness of the mother； the clinging； grasping effort of the
child。 Then suddenly the clear childish challenge：
〃I want you to tell me a story。〃
The wind blew； the story began； the child nestled against the
mother； Brangwen waited outside； suspended； looking at the wild
waving of the trees in the wind and the gathering darkness。 He
had his fate to follow； he lingered there at the threshold。
The chil