Chapter 13

           "Hemusthavereachedit,"saidLilyBriscoealoud,feelingsuddenlycompletelytiredout.FortheLighthousehadbecomealmostinvisible,hadmeltedawayintoabluehaze,andtheeffortoflookingatitandtheeffortofthinkingofhimlandingthere,whichbothseemedtobeoneandthesameeffort,hadstretchedherbodyandmindtotheutmost.Ah,butshewasrelieved.Whatevershehadwantedtogivehim,whenheleftherthatmorning,shehadgivenhimatlast.

           "Hehaslanded,"shesaidaloud."Itisfinished."Then,surgingup,puffingslightly,oldMr.Carmichaelstoodbesideher,lookinglikeanoldpagangod,shaggy,withweedsinhishairandthetrident(itwasonlyaFrenchnovel)inhishand.Hestoodbyherontheedgeofthelawn,swayingalittleinhisbulkandsaid,shadinghiseyeswithhishand:"Theywillhavelanded,"andshefeltthatshehadbeenright.Theyhadnotneededtospeak.Theyhadbeenthinkingthesamethingsandhehadansweredherwithoutheraskinghimanything.Hestoodthereasifhewerespreadinghishandsoveralltheweaknessandsufferingofmankind;shethoughthewassurveying,tolerantlyandcompassionately,theirfinaldestiny.Nowhehascrownedtheoccasion,shethought,whenhishandslowlyfell,asifshehadseenhimletfallfromhisgreatheightawreathofvioletsandasphodelswhich,flutteringslowly,layatlengthupontheearth.

           Quickly,asifshewererecalledbysomethingoverthere,sheturnedtohercanvas.Thereitwas—herpicture