THE LIGHTHOUSE

Not a breath of wind blew. The water chuckledand gurgled in the bottom of the boat where threeor four mackerel beat their tails up and down in apool of water not deep enough to cover them. Atany moment Mr. Ramsay (James scarcely dared lookat him) might rouse himself, shut his book, and saysomething sharp; but for the moment he was reading,so that James stealthily, as if he were stealing down-stairs on bare feet, afraid of waking a watch-dog bya creaking board, went on thinking what was shelike, where did she go that day? He began followingher from room to room and at last they came to aroom where in a blue light, as if the reflection camefrom many china dishes, she talked to somebody;he listened to her talking. She talked to a servant,saying simply whatever came into her head. ‘Weshall need a big dish to-night. Where is it — the bluedish?’ She alone spoke the truth; to her alone couldhe speak it. That was the source of her everlastingattraction for him, perhaps; she was a person to whomone could say what came into one’s head. But allthe time he thought of her, he was conscious of hisfather following his thought, shadowing it, making itshiver 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 that momentthe sail swung slowly round, filled slowly out, the

boat seemed to shake herself, and then to move off

217

Resize Images  

Select Pane

Berg Materials
 

View Pane