IWhat does it mean then, what can it all mean?Lily Briscoe asked herself, wondering whether,since she had been left alone, it behoved her to goto the kitchen to fetch another cup of coffee orwait here. What does it mean?—a catchwordthat was, caught up from some book, fitting herthought loosely, for she could not, this firstmorning with the Ramsays, contract her feelings,could only make a phrase resound to cover theblankness of her mind until these vapours hadshrunk. For really, what did she feel, come backafter all these years and Mrs. Ramsay dead?Nothing, nothing—nothing that she could ex-press at all.

She had come late last night when it was allmysterious, dark. Now she was awake, at her oldplace at the breakfast table, but alone. It wasvery early too, not yet eight. There was thisexpedition—they were going to the Lighthouse,Mr. Ramsay, Cam, and James. They shouldhave gone already—they had to catch the tide or

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