TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthe blind and look out. They would see then night flowing down in purple; how [%]his head crowned;his sceptre jeweled; and how instethis eyes a childmight look. And if they still faltered (Lily wastired out with travelling and slept almost at once;but Mr. Carmichael had reada book—which he read[%]by candlelight), if they still said no, that it wasvapour this splendour of his, and the dew hadmore power than he, and they preferred sleeping, reading in bed[%]; gently then without complaint, orargument, the voice would sing its song. Gentlythe waves would break (Lily heard them in hersleep); tenderly the light fell (it seemed to comethrough her eyelids). And it all looked, Mr.Carmichael thought, shutting his book, fallingasleepmuch[%]stetasit used to look. And he fell fast asleep.

Indeed the voice might resume, as the curtainsof dark wrapped themselves over the house, overMrs. Beckwith, Mr. Carmichael, and Lily Briscoeso that they lay with several folds of blackness ontheir eyes, why not accept this, be content withthis, acquiesce and resign? The sigh of all theseas breaking in measure round the isles soothedthem; the night wrapped them darkly;[%]nothingbroke their sleep, until, the birds beginning andthe dawn weaving their thin voices in to its white-ness, a cart grinding, a dog somewhere barking,the whitenesssunlifted the curtains, broke the veil on220

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