TO THE LIGHTHOUSE

" It will rain," he remembered his father
saying, " You won't be able to go to the
Lighthouse/'

The Lighthouse was then a silvery, misty-
looking tower with a yellow eye that opened
suddenly and softly in the evening. Now—

James looked at the Lighthouse. He could
see the white-washed rocks; the tower, stark and
straight; he could see that it was barred with
black and white; he could see windows in it; he
could even see washing spread on the rocks to dry.
So that was the Lighthouse, was it?

No, the other was also the Lighthouse. For
nothing was simply one thing. The other was
the Lighthouse too. It was sometimes hardly to
be seen across the bay. In the evening one
looked up and saw the eye opening and shutting
and the light seemed to reach them in that airy
sunny garden where they sat.

But he pulled himself up. Whenever he said
" they " or " a person ", and then began hearing
the rustle of some one coming, the tinkle of some
one going, he became extremely sensitive to the
presence of whoever might be in the room* It
was his father now. The strain became acute.
For in one moment if there was no breeze,
his father would slap the covers of his book to-
gether, and say: " What's happening now? What
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