The Angel came thoughtfully by the hedge across the field towards the Vicarage. The rays of the setting sun shone on his shoulders, and touched the Vicarage with gold, and blazed like fire in all the windows. By the gate, bathed in the sunlight, stood little Delia, the waiting maid. She stood watching him under her hand. It suddenly came into the Angel's mind that she, at least, was beautiful, and not only beautiful but alive and warm. She opened the gate for him and stood aside. She was sorry for him, for her elder sister was a cripple. He bowed to her, as he would have done to any woman, and for just one moment looked into her face. She looked back at him and something leapt within her. The Angel made an irresolute movement. "Your eyes are very beautiful," he said quietly, with a remote wonder in his voice. "Oh, sir!" she said, starting back. The Angel's expression changed to perplexity. He went on up the pathway between the Vicar's flower-beds, and she stood with the gate held open in her hand, staring after him. Just under the rose-twined verandah he turned and looked at her. She still stared at him for a moment, and then with a queer gesture turned round with her back to him, shutting the gate as she did so, and seemed to be looking down the valley towards the church tower. THE WARP AND THE WOOF OF THINGS. XXXIII. At the dinner table the Angel told the Vicar the more striking of his day's adventures. "The strange thing," said the Angel, "is the readiness of you Human Beings--the zest, with which you inflict pain. Those boys pelting me this morning----" "Seemed to enjoy it," said the Vicar. "I know." "Yet they don't like pain," said the Angel. "No," said the Vicar; "_they_ don't like it." "Then," said the Angel, "I saw some beautiful plants rising with a spike of leaves, two this way and two that, and when I caressed one it caused the most uncomfortable----" "Stinging nettle!" said the Vicar. "At any rate a new sort of pain. And another plant with a head like a coronet, and richly decorated leaves, spiked and jagged----" "A thistle, possibly." "And in your garden, the beautiful, sweet-smelling plant----" "The sweet briar," said the Vicar. "I remember." "And that pink flower that sprang out of the box----" "Out of the box?" said the Vicar. "Last night," said the Angel, "that went climbing up the curtains---- Flame!" "Oh!--the matches and the candles! Yes," said the Vicar. "Then the animals. A dog to-day behaved most disagreeably----. And these boys, and the way in which people speak----. Everyone seems anxious--willing at any rate--to give this Pain. Every one seems busy giving pain----" "Or avoiding it," said the Vicar, pushing his dinner away before him. "Yes--of course. It's fighting everywhere. The whole living world is a battle-field--the whole world. We are driven by Pain. Here. How it lies on the surface! This Angel sees it in a day!"