THE LIGHTHOUSEthey had sailed had put them far from it and given itthe changed look, the composed look, of somethingreceding in which one has no longer any part. Whichwas their house? She could not see it.

‘But I beneath a rougher sea,’ Mr. Ramsay mur-mured. He had found the house and so seeing it, hehad also seen himself there; he had seen himself walk-ing on the terrace, alone. He was walking up and downbetween the urns; and he seemed to himself very old,and bowed. Sitting in the boat he bowed, he crouchedhimself, acting instantly his part — the part of a deso-late man, widowed, bereft; and so called up beforehim in hosts people sympathising with him; staged forhimself, as he sat in the boat, a little drama; whichrequired of him decrepitude and exhaustion and sor-row (he raised his hands and looked at the thinnessof them, to confirm his dream) and then there wasgiven him in abundance women’s sympathy, and heimagined how they would soothe him and sympathisewith him, and so getting in his dream some reflectionof the exquisite pleasure women’s sympathy was tohim, he sighed and said gently and mournfully,But I beneath a rougher seaWas whelmed in deeper gulfs than he,so that the mournful words were heard quite clearlyby them all. Cam half started on her seat. It shockedher — it outraged her. The movement roused herfather; and he shuddered, and broke off, exclaiming:‘Look! Look!’ so urgently that James also turned hishead to look over his shoulder at the island. They alllooked. They looked at the island.

But Cam could see nothing. She was thinking how19313 — L.
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