T0 THE LIGHTHOUSEashamed of her own irritability, when it seemedas if he had shed worries and ambitions, and thehope of sympathy and the desire for praise, hadentered some other region, was drawn on, as ifby curiosity, in dumb colloquy, whether withhimself or another, at the head of that littleprocession out of one’s range. An extraordinaryface!_ The gate banged.

So they’re gone, she thought, sighing withrelief and disappointment. Her sympathy seemedto fly back in her face, like a bramble sprung.She felt curiously divided, as if one part of herwere drawn out there-it was a still day, hazy;the Lighthouse looked this morning at an immensedistance; the other had fixed itself doggedly,solidly, here on the lawn. She saw her canvasas if it had floated up and placed itself whiteand uncompromising? directly before her. Itseemed to rebuke her with its cold stare forall this hurry and agitation; this folly andwaste of emotion; it drastically recalled her andspread through her mind first a peaee, as her disorderly sensations (he had gone and she had beenso sorry for him and she had said nothing)trooped off the field; and then, emptiness. She242