THE LIGHTHOUSE 217dog by a creaking board, went on thinking what wasshe like, where did she go that day? He began fol-lowing her from room to room and at last they cameto a room where in a blue light, as if the reflectioncame from many china dishes, she talked to some-body; he listened to her talking. She talked to aservant, saying simply whatever came into her head.'We shall need a big dish to-night. Where is it—the blue dish?’ She alone spoke the truth; to heralone could he speak it. That was the source of hereverlasting attraction for him, perhaps; she was aperson to whom one could say what came into one'shead. But all the time he thought of her, he wasconscious of his father following his thought, shadow-ing it, making it shiver and falter.

At last he ceased to think; there he sat with hishand on the tiller in the sun, staring at the Light-house, powerless to move, powerless to flick off thesegrains of misery which settled on his mind one afteranother. A rope seemed to bind him there, and hisfather had knotted it and he could only escape bytaking a knife and plunging it. . . . But at thatmoment the sail swung slowly round, filled slowlyout, the boat seemed to shake herself, and then tomove off half conscious in her sleep, and then shewoke and shot through the waves. The relief wasextraordinary. They all seemed to fall away fromeach other again and to be at their ease, and thefishing-lines slanted taut across the side of the boat.But his father did not rouse himself. He only raisedhis right hand mysteriously high in the air, and let itfall upon his knee again as if he were conductingsome secret symphony.

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