All was silence. Nobody seemed yet to be stirring inthe house. She looked at it there sleeping in the earlysunlight with its windows green and blue with thereflected leaves. The faint thought she was thinkingof Mrs. Ramsay seemed in consonance with this quiethouse; this smoke; this fine early morning air. Faintand unreal, it was amazingly pure and exciting. Shehoped nobody would open the window or come out ofthe house, but that she might be left alone to go onthinking, to go on painting. She turned to her canvas.But impelled by some curiosity, driven by the discom-fort of the sympathy which she held undischarged, shewalked a pace or so to the end of the lawn to seewhether, down there on the beach, she could see thatlittle company setting sail. Down there among thelittle boats which floated, some with their sails furled,some slowly, for it was very calm, moving away, therewas one rather apart from the others. The sail waseven now being hoisted. She decided that there inthat very distant and entirely silent little boat Mr.Ramsay was sitting with Cam and James. Now theyhad got the sail up; now after a little flagging and hesi-tation the sails filled and, shrouded in profound si-lence, she watched the boat take its way with deliber-ation past the other boats out to sea.4