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THE LIGHTHOUSEsmall that it scarcely looked like a leaf any longer.It looked like the top of a rock which some wavebigger than the rest would cover. Yet in its frailtywere all those paths, those terraces, those bedrooms—all those innumerable things. But as, just beforesleep, things simplify themselves so that only oneof all the myriad details has power to assert itself,so, she felt, looking drowsily at the island, all thosepaths and terraces and bedrooms were fading anddisappearing, and nothing was left but a pale bluecenser swinging rhythmically this way and thatacross her mind. It was a hanging garden; it was avalley, full of birds, and flowers, and antelopes. . . .She was falling asleep."Come now," said Mr. Ramsay, suddenly shut-ting his book.Come where? To what extraordinary adventure?She woke with a start. To land somewhere, to climbsomewhere? Where was he leading them? For afterhis immense silence the words startled them. But itwas absurd. He was hungry, he said. It was timefor lunch. Besides, look, he said. "There's the Light-house. We're almost there.""He's doing very well," said Macalister, praisingJames. "He's keeping her very steady."But his father never praised him, James thoughtgrimly.Mr. Ramsay opened the parcel and shared out303
