After a while visitors became less inquisitively frequent. Ordinary life went on. Rosalind Berran, now Abelson, was to have a baby. (Never mentioned by Tuan except once pa.s.sionately to Benet: 'Oh let it be a boy!') Marian Bjerke was also about to have a baby, she and Rosalind kept up a constant correspondence. Priscilla Conti (Priscilla was a professional singer) came and talked a lot with Jackson and they sang together. Benet had never heard Jackson sing. 'A wonderful voice,' Priscilla said, as she dashed back to Italy. Jackson had occasional private conversations with Oliver Caxton, these took place in the Lodge at Tara. Jackson more often, and regularly, visited Owen, with whom he often stayed for a long time. So things were changing. Most profoundly disturbing to Benet was that Mildred had introduced Jackson to Lucas Begbrook, and that they were probably generating 'holiness' between them! All these private visitations Jackson of course mentioned to Benet but did not discuss.

The dawn was now perceptibly present, introducing a transparent curtain of pale blue. The rising sun was gently making his presence felt. The revellers of the previous night were still asleep, Edward and Anna were asleep, Owen and Mildred were asleep, Tuan and Rosalind were asleep, Benet was asleep. Bran was not asleep. He made his way cautiously down the big stairway and tip-toed towards the back of the house, here he unlocked a small door which led out into the garden. As he hurried across the gra.s.s his shoes and socks were wet with dew. The pale gravelled path was also damp, waiting for the sun to warm it. Bran, taking another key from his pocket, unlocked a green slatted wooden door, carefully locking it behind him. He was making for the stables. His nearness was already now being announced, as his feet crunched more gravel and again more paving. He heard a faint little cry, almost like that of a cat. He hurried on to where Rex's head was visible, over the lower door of the stable. Bran ran forward and threw his arms round Rex's neck. The pony whinnied again as Bran rubbed his brow gently against the warm fur, then standing back and drawing his hands down Rex's nose and over his wet black nostrils. They looked at each other, the boy and the pony, with their wild eyes, both young, both pa.s.sionate, they looked at each other with amazement, and with pa.s.sion and with love. Bran said, 'Not yet, my pretty one, my dear, goodbye for a little, I shall come back soon.' In an instant then he turned and ran, listening to the high whinny of the little pony, he ran zigzag avoiding the front of the house, darting along an alley of yellow privet and crossing another gravel path and slithering down a gra.s.sy slope towards a well-kept brick wall. He climbed over the wall at his particular place, falling, then stumbling into the long gra.s.ses and dashing across the tarmac road. He climbed over a five-barred gate and ran upwards now, panting, across a field, then through another gate. He stood a while breathing deeply by a hedge, then walked on, slipping through another hedge into another field. Here he stood, breathing hard, looking anxiously about. Then in the still slight hazy morning light he saw the big hunter coming slowly towards him. He called softly, 'Spencer, Spencer,' as he walked now to meet him, and in a sudden clumsy embrace they met, Bran clutching at the great neck and seeking for the great head, as the horse leant down towards the boy. Bran felt a strange feeling on his bare arms where a big strong tongue was licking him. Clumsily he reached to get an offering, a carrot, out of his pocket, but Spencer was not interested, and had now removed his tongue to Bran's face. Bran then began to walk slowly across the field, the horse following, and stopped again reaching up his arms to the horse's neck, stroking his huge face, looking into his beautiful eyes, and tears came to Bran as he said his name and felt with his hands the warm smooth tense skin; and it was as if he were holding up all the world. He had been thus to the field more than once, but this visitation had something very special, painful, a burning sensation, as if there were flames licking them both, lifting up their faces to the heat of the risen sun. Bran found himself sobbing. He lay against the horse's side, pressing up against the shoulder, thrusting his hand into the mane, as if by Spencer's gentle movement, the horse and he were one. At last the ecstasy was pa.s.sing, and Bran said to Spencer, 'I am sorry, oh I am so sorry,' apologising for not being able to be, with and for the other, something perfect. He detached himself, kissing the warm fur, murmuring, 'I'll be back again,' and turned away and ran back across the field. Before he reached the hedge he fell, his ankles tangled by thick bindweed. He hurried on, the way he had come, down the hill. Spencer followed him slowly as far as he could. He was very old and tired. Bending his elegant legs he lay down in the long gra.s.s.

Jackson, who had also got up early, had had his interview with Spencer and was beginning to walk down towards the river when, looking back, he saw Bran appearing. Un.o.bserved, he sat down in the gra.s.s and watched the boy and the horse, both his friends. He was also, he observed, now the companion of a very large spider who was busy completing a web between the tall gra.s.ses. The spider ran hurriedly over to see what was happening, but there was only a minor disturbance. Now Bran had gone, but Jackson continued to sit motionless in the gra.s.s. He breathed deeply. Sometimes he had a sudden loss of breath, together with a momentary loss, or shift, of memory. So he was to wait, once more, forgetfulness, his and theirs. He thought, my power has left me, will it ever return, will the indications return? No a.s.signment. But punishment? Madness of course always now at hand. He had forgotten where he had to go, and what he had to do. To the mountains. If he went to the mountains now he would find no one there. Stay with Benet - among the rich - seeking the poor? How strange just now that he was able to sing. a.s.signed? He remembered now that he could sing. But he had come to the wrong turning. With Benet, had he finally made a mistake? Have I simply come to the end of my tasks? I wish I could say - 'I have only to wait.' How much did Uncle Tim understand, I wonder. Or, how much now will I understand. My powers have left me, will they return - have I simply misunderstood? At least I had called Benet to the bridge. Is it all a dream, yes, perhaps a dream - yet my strength remains, and I can destroy myself at any moment. Death, its closeness. Do I after all fear those who seek me? I have forgotten them and no one calls. Was I in prison once? I cannot remember. At the end of what is necessary, I have come to a place where there is no road.

As, casting off all this, he began to rise, he felt something strange. The spider had discovered his hand and was now walking upon it. Gently he a.s.sisted the creature back into its web. He walked down towards the river and crossed the bridge. As he came nearer now to Penndean he began to smile.

By the same author.

UNDER THE NET.

THE FLIGHT FROM THE ENCHANTER.

THE SANDCASTLE.

THE BELL.

A SEVERED HEAD.

AN UNOFFICIAL ROSE.

THE UNICORN.

THE ITALIAN GIRL.

THE RED AND THE GREEN.

THE TIME OF THE ANGELS.

THE NICE AND THE GOOD.

BRUNO'S DREAM A FAIRLY HONOURABLE DEFEAT.

AN ACCIDENTAL MAN.

THE BLACK PRINCE.

THE SACRED AND PROFANE LOVE MACHINE.

A WORD CHILD.

HENRY AND CATO.

THE SEA, THE SEA.

NUNS AND SOLDIERS.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S PUPIL THE GOOD APPRENTICE.

THE BOOK AND THE BROTHERHOOD.

THE MESSAGE TO THE PLANET.

THE GREEN KNIGHT.

Plays.

A SEVERED HEAD (with J. B. Priestley).

THE ITALIAN GIRL (with James Saunders).

THE THREE ARROWS and.

THE SERVANTS AND THE SNOW.

THE BLACK PRINCE.

Philosophy.

SARTRE, ROMANTIC RATIONALIST.

THE SOVEREIGNTY OF GOOD.

THE FIRE AND THE SUN.

ACASTOS: Two Platonic Dialogues.

METAPHYSICS AS A GUIDE TO MORALS.

Poetry.

A YEAR OF BIRDS.

(Ill.u.s.trated by Reynolds Stone).