THE LIGHTHOUSEvoice and his face and all the quick expressive gestureswhich had been at his command making people pityhim and praise him all these years should subduethemselves. He would make her smile at him. Hewould find some simple easy thing to say to her. Butwhat? For, wrapped up in his work as he was, heforgot the sort of thing one said. There was a puppy.They had a puppy. Who was looking after the puppyto-day? he asked. Yes, thought James pitilessly, seeinghis sister’s head against the sail, now she will giveway. I shall be left to fight the tyrant alone. Thecompact would be left to him to carry out. Cam wouldnever resist tyranny to the death, he thought grimly,watching her face, sad, sulky, yielding. And as some-times happens when a cloud falls on a green hillsideand gravity descends and there among all the sur-rounding hills is gloom and sorrow, and it seems asif the hills themselves must ponder the fate of theclouded, the darkened, either in pity, or maliciouslyrejoicing in her dismay: so Cam now felt herselfovercast, as she sat there among calm, resolute peopleand wondered how to answer her father about thepuppy; how to resist his entreaty — forgive me, carefor me; while James the lawgiver, with the tablets ofeternal wisdom laid open on his knee (his hand onthe tiller had become symbolical to her), said, Resisthim. Fight him. He said so rightly; justly. For theymust fight tyranny to the death, she thought. Of allhuman qualities she reverenced justice most. Her bro-ther was most god-like, her father most suppliant.And to which did she yield, she thought, sitting be-tween them, gazing at the shore whose points were allunknown to her, and thinking how the lawn and the195
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