TO THE LIGHTHOUSEthe blind and look out. They would see then nightflowing down in purple; his head crowned; hissceptre jewelled; and how in his eyes a childmight look. And if they still faltered (Lily wastired out with travelling and slept almost at once;but Mr. Carmichael read a book by candlelight),if they still said no, that it was vapour thissplendour of his, and the dew had more powerthan he, and they preferred sleeping; gently thenwithout complaint, or argument, the voice wouldsing its song. Gently the waves would break(Lily heard them in her sleep); tenderly the lightfell (it seemed to come through her eyelids).And it all looked, Mr. Carmichael thought,shutting his book, falling asleep, much as it usedto look years ago.

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; nothing broketheir sleep, until, the birds beginning and thedawn weaving their thin voices in to its whiteness, a cart grinding, a dog somewhere barking,the sun lifted the curtains, broke the veil on220

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