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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEsuch kindly meaning, but like a ghostly roll of drumsremorselessly 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 all ephem-eral as a rainbow — this sound which had been ob-scured and concealed under the other sounds suddenlythundered hollow in her ears and made her look upwith an impulse of terror.

They had ceased to talk; that was the explanation.Falling in one second from the tension which hadgripped her to the other extreme which, as if to recoupher for her unnecessary expense of emotion, was cool,amused, and even faintly malicious, she concludedthat poor Charles Tansley had been shed. That was oflittle account to her. If her husband required sacrifices(and indeed he did) she cheerfully offered up to himCharles Tansley, who had snubbed her little boy.

One moment more, with her head raised, she list-ened, as if she waited for some habitual sound, someregular mechanical sound; and then, hearing some-thing rhythmical, half said, half chanted, beginningin the garden, as her husband beat up and down theterrace, something between a croak and a song, shewas soothed once more, assured again that all waswell, and looking down at the book on her knee foundthe picture of a pocket knife with six blades whichcould only be cut out if James was very careful.

Suddenly a loud cry, as of a sleep-walker, halfroused, something aboutStormed at with shot and shellsung out with the utmost intensity in her ear, made her22