THE LIGHTHOUSEMrs. Ramsay making of the moment somethingpermanent (as in another sphere Lily herself triedto make of the moment something permanent)—thiswas of the nature of a revelation. In the midst ofchaos there was shape; this eternal passing andflowing (she looked at the clouds going and theleaves shaking) was struck into stability. Life standstill here, Mrs. Ramsay said. "Mrs. Ramsay! Mrs.Ramsay!" she repeated. She owed it all to her.

All was silence. Nobody seemed yet to be stirringin the house. She looked at it there sleeping in theearly sunlight with its windows green and blue withthe reflected leaves. The faint thought she wasthinking of Mrs. Ramsay seemed in consonancewith this quiet house; this smoke; this fine earlymorning air. Faint and unreal, it was amazinglypure and exciting. She hoped nobody would open thewindow or come out of the house, but that she mightbe left alone to go on thinking, to go on painting.She turned to her canvas. But impelled by somecuriosity, driven by the discomfort of the sympathywhich she held undischarged, she walked a pace orso to the end of the lawn to see whether, down thereon the beach, she could see that little company set-ting sail. Down there among the little boats whichfloated, some with their sails furled, some slowly,for it was very calm moving away, there was one241

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