TO THE LIGHTHOUSEin a generation. Still, if he could reach R it wouldbe something. Here at least was Q. He dug his heelsin at Q. Q he was sure of. Q he could demonstrate.If Q then is Q—R— Here he knocked his pipe out,with two or three resonant taps on the handle of theurn, and proceeded. "Then R . . ." He bracedhimself. He clenched himself.

Qualities that would have saved a ship’s com-pany exposed on a broiling sea with six biscuitsand a flask of water—endurance and justice, fore-sight, devotion, skill, came to his help. R is then—what is R?

A shutter, like the leathern eyelid of a lizard,flickered over the intensity of his gaze and ob-scured the letter R. In that flash of darkness heheard people saying—he was a failure—that R wasbeyond him. He would never reach R. On to R,once more. R——

Qualities that in a desolate expedition across theicy solitudes of the Polar region would have madehim the leader, the guide, the counsellor, whosetemper, neither sanguine nor despondent, surveyswith equanimity what is to be and faces it, cameto his help again. R——

The lizard’s eye flickered once more. The veinson his forehead bulged. The geranium in the urnbecame startlingly visible and, displayed among54
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