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THE WINDOW 23the bay with blue, and the heart expanded with itand the body swam, only the next instant to bechecked and chilled by the prickly blackness on theruffled waves. Then, up behind the great blackrock, almost every evening spurted irregularly, sothat one had to watch for it and it was a delightwhen it came, a fountain of white water; and then,while one waited for that, one watched, on the palesemicircular beach, wave after wave shedding againand again smoothly a film of mother-of-pearl.

They both smiled, standing there. They both felta common hilarity, excited by the moving waves;and then by the swift cutting race of a sailing boat,which, having sliced a curve in the bay, stopped;shivered; let its sail drop down; and then, with anatural instinct to complete the picture, after thisswift movement, both of them looked at the dunesfar away, and instead of merriment felt come overthem some sadness—because the thing was com-pleted partly, and partly because distant views seemto outlast by a million years (Lily thought) the gazerand to be communing already with a sky which be-holds an earth entirely at rest.

Looking at the far sandhills, William Bankesthought of Ramsay: thought of a road in Westmor-and, thought of Ramsay striding along a road byhimself hung round with that solitude which seemedto be his natural air. But this was suddenly inter-rupted, William Bankes remembered (and this mustrefer to some actual incident), by a hen, straddlingher wings out in protection of a covey of little chicks,upon which Ramsay, stopping, pointed his stick andsaid 'Pretty—pretty, an odd illumination into his