extraordinary house； and interposed a few speculations
about the meeting between Keats and Coleridge in a lane；
which tided over the disfort of the moment； and drew
Katharine on to further descriptions and indiscretions。 In
truth； she found an extraordinary pleasure in being thus
free to talk to some one who was equally wise and equally
benignant； the mother of her earliest childhood； whose
silence seemed to answer questions that were never asked。
Mrs。 Hilbery listened without making any remark for a
considerable time。 She seemed to draw her conclusions
rather by looking at her daughter than by listening to
her； and； if crossexamined； she would probably have given
a highly inaccurate version of Ralph Denham’s lifehistory
except that he was penniless； fatherless； and lived
at Highgate—all of which was much in his favor。 But by
means of these furtive glances she had assured herself
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Night and Day
that Katharine was in a state which gave her； alternately；
the most exquisite pleasure and the most profound alarm。
She could not help ejaculating at last：
“It’s all done in five minutes at a Registry Office nowadays；
if you think the Church service a little florid—which
it is； though there are noble things in it。”
“But we don’t want to be married；” Katharine replied
emphatically； and added； “Why； after all； isn’t it perfectly
possible to live together without being married？”
Again Mrs。 Hilbery looked disposed； and； in her
trouble； took up the sheets which were lying upon the
table； and began turning them over this way and that；
and muttering to herself as she glanced：
“A plus B minus C equals ‘x y z’。 It’s so dreadfully ugly；
Katharine。 That’s what I feel—so dreadfully ugly。”
Katharine took the sheets from her mother’s hand and
began shuffling them absentmindedly together； for her
fixed gaze seemed to show that her thoughts were intent
upon some other matter。
“Well； I don’t know about ugliness；” she said at length。
“But he doesn’t ask it of you？” Mrs。 Hilbery exclaimed。
“Not that grave young man with the steady brown eyes？”
“He doesn’t ask anything—we neither of us ask anything。”
“If I could help you； Katharine； by the memory of what
I felt—”
“Yes； tell me what you felt。”
Mrs。 Hilbery； her eyes growing blank； peered down the
enormously long corridor of days at the far end of which
the little figures of herself and her husband appeared
fantastically attired； clasping hands upon a moonlit beach；
with roses swinging in the dusk。
“We were in a little boat going out to a ship at night；”
she began。 “The sun had set and the moon was rising
over our heads。 There were lovely silver lights upon the
waves and three green lights upon the steamer in the
middle of the bay。 Your father’s head looked so grand
against the mast。 It was life； it was death。 The great sea
was round us。 It was the voyage for ever and ever。”
The ancient fairytale fell roundly and harmoniously upon
Katharine’s ears。 Yes； there was the enormous space of
the sea； there were the three green lights upon the
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Virginia Woolf
steamer； the cloaked figures climbed up on deck。 And so；
voyaging over the green and purple waters； past the cliffs
and the sandy lagoons and through pools crowded with
the masts of ships and the steeples of churches—here
they were。 The river seemed to have brought them and
deposited them here at this precise point。 She looked
admiringly at her mother； that ancient voyager。
“Who knows；” exclaimed Mrs。 Hilbery； continuing her
reveries； “where we are bound for； or why； or who has
sent us； or what we shall find—who knows anything；
except that love is our faith—love—” she crooned； and
the soft sound beating through the dim words was heard
by her daughter as the breaking of waves solemnly in
order upon the vast shore that she gazed upon。 She would
have been content for her mother to repeat that word
almost indefinitely—a soothing word when uttered by
another； a riveting together of the shattered fragments
of the world。 But Mrs。 Hilbery； instead of repeating the
word love； said pleadingly：
“And you won’t think those ugly thoughts again； will
you； Katharine？” at which words the ship which Katharine
had been considering seemed to put into harbor and have
done with its seafaring。 Yet she was in great need； if not
exactly of sympathy； of some form of advice； or； at least；
of the opportunity of setting forth her problems before a
third person so as to renew them in her own eyes。
“But then；” she said； ignoring the difficult problem of
ugliness； “you knew you were in love； but we’re different。
It seems；” she continued； frowning a little as she tried to
fix the difficult feeling； “as if something came to an end
suddenly—gave out—faded—an illusion—as if when we
think we’re in love we make it up—we imagine what
doesn’t exist。 That’s why it’s impossible that we should
ever marry。 Always to be finding the other an illusion；
and going off and forgetting about them； never to be
certain that you cared； or that he wasn’t caring for some
one not you at all； the horror of changing from one state
to the other； being happy one moment and miserable the
next—that’s the reason why we can’t possibly marry。 At
the same time；” she continued； “we can’t live without
each other； because—” Mrs。 Hilbery waited patiently for
the sentence to be pleted； but Katharine fell silent
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Night and Day
and fingered her sheet of figures。
“We have to have faith in our vision；” Mrs。 Hilbery resumed；
glancing at the figures； which distressed her
vaguely； and had some connection in her mind with the
household accounts； “otherwise； as you say—” She cast
a lightning glance into the depths of disillusionment which
were； perhaps； not altogether unknown to her。
“Believe me； Katharine； it’s the same for every one—
for me； too—for your father；” she said earnestly； and
sighed。 They looked together into the abyss and； as the
elder of the two； she recovered herself first and asked：
“But where is Ralph？ Why isn’t he here to see me？”
Katharine’s expression changed instantly。
“Because he’s not allowed to e here；” she replied
bitterly。
Mrs。 Hilbery brushed this aside。
“Would there be time to send for him before luncheon？”
she asked。
Katharine looked at her as if； indeed； she were some
magician。 Once more she felt that instead of being a
grown woman； used to advise and mand； she was
only a foot or two raised above the long grass and the
little flowers and entirely dependent upon the figure of
indefinite size whose head went up into the sky； whose
hand was in hers； for guidance。
“I’m not happy without him；” she said simply。
Mrs。 Hilbery nodded her head in a manner which indicated
plete understanding； and the immediate conception
of certain plans for the future。 She swept up her
flowers； breathed in their sweetness； and； humming a
little song about a miller’s daught