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THE WINDOW 5upon the horizon), one that needs, above all, courage,truth, and the power to endure.

‘But it may be fine—I expect it will be fine,’ saidMrs Ramsay, making some little twist of the reddish-brown stocking she was knitting, impatiently. Ifshe finished it to-night, if they did go to the Light-house after all, it was to be given to the Lighthousekeeper for his little boy, who was threatened with atuberculous hip; together with a pile of old maga-zines, and some tobacco, indeed whatever she couldfind lying about, not really wanted, but only litteringthe room, to give those poor fellows who must bebored to death sitting all day with nothing to do butpolish the lamp and trim the wick and rake about ontheir scrap of garden, something to amuse them. Forhow would you like to be shut up for a whole monthat a time, and possibly more in stormy weather, upona rock the size of a tennis lawn? she would ask; andto have no letters or newspapers, and to see nobody;if you were married, not to see your wife, not to knowhow your children were—if they were ill, if they hadfallen down and broken their legs or arms; to see thesame dreary waves breaking week after week, andthen a dreadful storm coming, and the windowscovered with spray, and birds dashed against thelamp, and the whole place rocking, and not be ableto put your nose out of doors for fear of being sweptinto the sea? How would you like that? she asked,addressing herself particularly to her daughters. Soshe added, rather differently, one must take themwhatever comforts one can.

‘It’s due west,’ said the atheist Tansley, holdinghis bony fingers spread so that the wind blew through