Page 297 - sons-and-lovers

was anxious for fear she would not come: it was so far, and
there were so many rainy Sundays. Then, often very late in-
deed, she came in, with her long stride, her head bowed, her
face hidden under her bat of dark green velvet. Her face, as
she sat opposite, was always in shadow. But it gave him a
very keen feeling, as if all his soul stirred within him, to see
her there. It was not the same glow, happiness, and pride,
that he felt in having his mother in charge: something more
wonderful, less human, and tinged to intensity by a pain, as
if there were something he could not get to.
At this time he was beginning to question the orthodox
creed. He was twenty-one, and she was twenty. She was be-
ginning to dread the spring: he became so wild, and hurt
her so much. All the way he went cruelly smashing her be-
liefs. Edgar enjoyed it. He was by nature critical and rather
dispassionate. But Miriam suffered exquisite pain, as, with
an intellect like a knife, the man she loved examined her
religion in which she lived and moved and had her being.
But he did not spare her. He was cruel. And when they went
alone he was even more fierce, as if he would kill her soul.
He bled her beliefs till she almost lost consciousness.
‘She exults—she exults as she carries him off from me,’
Mrs. Morel cried in her heart when Paul had gone. ‘She’s
not like an ordinary woman, who can leave me my share in
him. She wants to absorb him. She wants to draw him out
and absorb him till there is nothing left of him, even for
himself. He will never be a man on his own feet—she will
suck him up.’ So the mother sat, and battled and brooded
bitterly.

Sons and Lovers