TO THE LIGHTHOUSEmorselessly beat the measure of life, made one thinkof the destruction of the island and its engulfment inthe sea, and warned her whose day had slipped pastin one quick doing after another that it was allephemeral as a rainbow—this sound which had beenobscured and concealed under the other sounds sud-denly thundered hollow in her ears and made herlook up with an impulse of terror.They had ceased to talk; that was the explana-tion. Falling in one second from the tension whichhad gripped her to the other extreme which, as if torecoup her for her unnecessary expense of emotion,was cool, amused, and even faintly malicious, sheconcluded that poor Charles Tansley had been shed.That was of little account to her. If her husbandrequired sacrifices (and indeed he did) she cheer-fully offered up to him Charles Tansley, who hadsnubbed her little boy.One moment more, with her head raised, shelistened, as if she waited for some habitual sound,some regular mechanical sound; and then, hearingsomething rhythmical, half said, half chanted, be-ginning in the garden, as her husband beat up anddown the terrace, something between a croak and asong, she was soothed once more, assured again thatall was well, and looking down at the book on her28
