“You’re peaceful,” she said.  She became peaceful too, at the same time possessed with a strange exultation.  Life seemed to hold infinite possibilities she had never guessed at.  She leant upon the rail and looked over the troubled grey waters, where the sunlight was fitfully scattered upon the crests of the waves, until she was cold and absolutely calm again.  Nevertheless something wonderful had happened.

At dinner, however, she did not feel exalted, but merely uncomfortable, as if she and Richard had seen something together which is hidden in ordinary life, so that they did not like to look at each other.  Richard slid his eyes over her uneasily once, and never looked at her again.  Formal platitudes were manufactured with effort, but Willoughby was kindled.

“Beef for Mr. Dalloway!” he shouted.  “Come now—­after that walk you’re at the beef stage, Dalloway!”

Wonderful masculine stories followed about Bright and Disraeli and coalition governments, wonderful stories which made the people at the dinner-table seem featureless and small.  After dinner, sitting alone with Rachel under the great swinging lamp, Helen was struck by her pallor.  It once more occurred to her that there was something strange in the girl’s behaviour.

“You look tired.  Are you tired?” she asked.

“Not tired,” said Rachel.  “Oh, yes, I suppose I am tired.”

Helen advised bed, and she went, not seeing Richard again.  She must have been very tired for she fell asleep at once, but after an hour or two of dreamless sleep, she dreamt.  She dreamt that she was walking down a long tunnel, which grew so narrow by degrees that she could touch the damp bricks on either side.  At length the tunnel opened and became a vault; she found herself trapped in it, bricks meeting her wherever she turned, alone with a little deformed man who squatted on the floor gibbering, with long nails.  His face was pitted and like the face of an animal.  The wall behind him oozed with damp, which collected into drops and slid down.  Still and cold as death she lay, not daring to move, until she broke the agony by tossing herself across the bed, and woke crying “Oh!”

Light showed her the familiar things:  her clothes, fallen off the chair; the water jug gleaming white; but the horror did not go at once.  She felt herself pursued, so that she got up and actually locked her door.  A voice moaned for her; eyes desired her.  All night long barbarian men harassed the ship; they came scuffling down the passages, and stopped to snuffle at her door.  She could not sleep again.

Chapter VI

“That’s the tragedy of life—­as I always say!” said Mrs. Dalloway.  “Beginning things and having to end them.  Still, I’m not going to let this end, if you’re willing.”  It was the morning, the sea was calm, and the ship once again was anchored not far from another shore.