THE LIGHTHOUSEbe so tormented with sympathy for him that, asshe stooped too, the blood rushed to her face, and,thinking of her callousness (she had called him aplay-actor) she felt her eyes swell and tingle withtears? Thus occupied he seemed to her a figureof infinite pathos. He tied knots. He boughtboots. There was no helping Mr. Ramsay on thejourney he was going. But now just as she wishedto say something, could have said something,perhaps, here they were—Cam and James. Theyappeared on the terrace. They came, lagging,side by side, a serious, melancholy couple.

But why was it like that that they came? Shecould not help feeling annoyed with them; theymight have come more cheerfully; they mighthave given him what, now that they were off, shewould not have the chance of giving him. For shefelt a sudden emptiness; a frustration. Herfeeling had come too late; there it was ready;but he no longer needed it. He had become avery distinguished, elderly man, who had no needof her whatsoever. She felt snubbed. He slunga knapsack round his shoulders. He shared outthe parcels—there were a number of them, illtied in brown paper. He sent Cam for a cloak.He had all the appearance of a leader makingready for an expedition. Then, wheeling about,he led the way with his firm military tread, in those239
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