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TO THE LIGHTHOUSEimpossible and yet their going inflicts such achill on those who watch them that they alwaystry at least to follow them with their eyes as onefollows a fading ship until the sails have sunkbeneath the horizon.How old she looks, how worn she looks, Lilythought, and how remote. Then when she turnedto William Bankes[∧], /smiling, it was as if the shiphad turned and the sun had struck its sails again,and Lily thought with some amusement becauseshe was relieved, Why does she pity him? Forthat was the impression she gave, when she toldhim that his letters were in the hall. Poor WilliamBankes, she seemed to be saying, as if her ownweariness had been partly pitying people, and thelife in her, her resolve to live again, had beenstirred by pity. And it was not true, Lily thought;it was one of those misjudgments of hers thatseemed to be instinctive and to arise from someneed of her own rather than of other people’s. Heis not in the least pitiable. He has his work, Lilysaid to herself. She remembered, all of a suddenas if she had found a treasure, that she had herwork. In a flash she saw her picture, and thought,Yes, I shall put the tree further in the middle;then I shall avoid that awkward space. That'swhat I shall do. That’s what has been puzzlingme. She took up the salt cellar and put it down132
