TO THE LIGHTHOUSEback. She summoned before her again the little groupon the terrace in front of the hall door, standing look-ing up into the sky. Andrew had his net and basket.That meant he was going to catch crabs and things.That meant he would climb out on to a rock; he wouldbe cut off. Or coming back single file on one of thoselittle paths above the cliff one of them might slip. Hewould roll and then crash. It was growing quite dark.

But she did not let her voice change in the least asshe finished the story, and added, shutting the book,and speaking the last words as if she had made themup herself, looking into James’s eyes: ‘And there theyare living still at this very time.’

‘And that’s the end,’ she said, and she saw in hiseyes, as the interest of the story died away in them,something else take its place; something wondering,pale, like the reflection of a light, which at once madehim gaze and marvel. Turning, she looked across thebay, and there, sure enough, coming regularly acrossthe waves, first two quick strokes and then one longsteady stroke, was the light of the Lighthouse. It hadbeen lit.

In a moment he would ask her, ‘Are we going tothe Lighthouse?' And she would have to say, ‘No: notto-morrow; your father says not.’ Happily, Mildredcame in to fetch them, and the bustle distracted them.But he kept looking back over his shoulder as Mildredcarried him out, and she was certain that he was think-ing, we are not going to the Lighthouse to-morrow;and she thought, he will remember that all his life.74

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