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When
morning
came
,
he
felt
he
had
earned
the
right
to
inhabit
the
lighthouse
;
yet
,
even
though
there
still
was
glass
in
most
of
the
windows
,
even
though
the
view
from
the
platform
was
so
fine
.
For
the
very
reason
why
he
had
chosen
the
lighthouse
had
become
almost
instantly
a
reason
for
going
somewhere
else
.
He
had
decided
to
live
there
because
the
view
was
so
beautiful
,
because
,
from
his
vantage
point
,
he
seemed
to
be
looking
out
on
to
the
incarnation
of
a
divine
being
.
But
who
was
he
to
be
pampered
with
the
daily
and
hourly
sight
of
loveliness
?
Who
was
he
to
be
living
in
the
visible
presence
of
God
?
All
he
deserved
to
live
in
was
some
filthy
sty
,
some
blind
hole
in
the
ground
.
Stiff
and
still
aching
after
his
long
night
of
pain
,
but
for
that
very
reason
inwardly
reassured
,
he
climbed
up
to
the
platform
of
his
tower
,
he
looked
out
over
the
bright
sunrise
world
which
he
had
regained
the
right
to
inhabit
.
On
the
north
the
view
was
bounded
by
the
long
chalk
ridge
of
the
Hog
’
s
Back
,
from
behind
whose
eastern
extremity
rose
the
towers
of
the
seven
skyscrapers
which
constituted
Guildford
.
Seeing
them
,
the
Savage
made
a
grimace
;
but
he
was
to
become
reconciled
to
them
in
course
of
time
;
for
at
night
they
twinkled
gaily
with
geometrical
constellations
,
or
else
,
flood
-
lighted
,
pointed
their
luminous
fingers
(
with
a
gesture
whose
significance
nobody
in
England
but
the
Savage
now
understood
)
solemnly
towards
the
plumbless
mysteries
of
heaven
.
In
the
valley
which
separated
the
Hog
’
s
Back
from
the
sandy
hill
on
which
the
lighthouse
stood
,
Puttenham
was
a
modest
little
village
nine
stories
high
,
with
silos
,
a
poultry
farm
,
and
a
small
vitamin
-
D
factory
.
On
the
other
side
of
the
lighthouse
,
towards
the
South
,
the
ground
fell
away
in
long
slopes
of
heather
to
a
chain
of
ponds
.
Beyond
them
,
above
the
intervening
woods
,
rose
the
fourteen
-
story
tower
of
Elstead
.
Dim
in
the
hazy
English
air
,
Hindhead
and
Selborne
invited
the
eye
into
a
blue
romantic
distance
.
But
it
was
not
alone
the
distance
that
had
attracted
the
Savage
to
his
lighthouse
;
the
near
was
as
seductive
as
the
far
.
The
woods
,
the
open
stretches
of
heather
and
yellow
gorse
,
the
clumps
of
Scotch
firs
,
the
shining
ponds
with
their
overhanging
birch
trees
,
their
water
lilies
,
their
beds
of
rushes
–
these
were
beautiful
and
,
to
an
eye
accustomed
to
the
aridities
of
the
American
desert
,
astonishing
.
And
then
the
solitude
!
Whole
days
passed
during
which
he
never
saw
a
human
being
.
The
lighthouse
was
only
a
quarter
of
an
hour
’
s
flight
from
the
Charing
-
T
Tower
;
but
the
hills
of
Malpais
were
hardly
more
deserted
than
this
Surrey
heath
.
The
crowds
that
daily
left
London
,
left
it
only
to
play
Electro
?
magnetic
Golf
or
Tennis
.
Puttenham
possessed
no
links
;
the
nearest
Riemann
-
surfaces
were
at
Guildford
.
Flowers
and
a
landscape
were
the
only
attractions
here
.
And
so
,
as
there
was
no
good
reason
for
coming
,
nobody
came
.
During
the
first
days
the
Savage
lived
alone
and
undisturbed
.
Of
the
money
which
,
on
his
first
arrival
,
John
had
received
for
his
personal
expenses
,
most
had
been
spent
on
his
equipment
.
Before
leaving
London
he
had
bought
four
viscose
-
woollen
blankets
,
rope
and
string
,
nails
,
glue
,
a
few
tools
,
matches
(
though
he
intended
in
due
course
to
make
a
fire
drill
)
,
some
pots
and
pans
,
two
dozen
packets
of
seeds
,
and
ten
kilogrammes
of
wheat
flour
.
"
No
,
not
synthetic
starch
and
cotton
-
waste
flour
-
substitute
,
"
he
had
insisted
.
"
Even
though
it
is
more
nourishing
.
"
But
when
it
came
to
pan
-
glandular
biscuits
and
vitaminized
beef
-
surrogate
,
he
had
not
been
able
to
resist
the
shopman
’
s
persuasion
.
Looking
at
the
tins
now
,
he
bitterly
reproached
himself
for
his
weakness
.
Loathesome
civilized
stuff
!
He
had
made
up
his
mind
that
he
would
never
eat
it
,
even
if
he
were
starving
.
"
That
’
ll
teach
them
,
"
he
thought
vindictively
.
It
would
also
teach
him
.
He
counted
his
money
.
The
little
that
remained
would
be
enough
,
he
hoped
,
to
tide
him
over
the
winter
.
By
next
spring
,
his
garden
would
be
producing
enough
to
make
him
independent
of
the
outside
world
.
Meanwhile
,
there
would
always
be
game
.
He
had
seen
plenty
of
rabbits
,
and
there
were
waterfowl
on
the
ponds
.
He
set
to
work
at
once
to
make
a
bow
and
arrows
.
There
were
ash
trees
near
the
lighthouse
and
,
for
arrow
shafts
,
a
whole
copse
full
of
beautifully
straight
hazel
saplings
.
He
began
by
felling
a
young
ash
,
cut
out
six
feet
of
unbranched
stem
,
stripped
off
the
bark
and
,
paring
by
paring
,
shaved
away
the
white
wood
,
as
old
Mitsima
had
taught
him
,
until
he
had
a
stave
of
his
own
height
,
stiff
at
the
thickened
centre
,
lively
and
quick
at
the
slender
tips
.
The
work
gave
him
an
intense
pleasure
.
After
those
weeks
of
idleness
in
London
,
with
nothing
to
do
,
whenever
he
wanted
anything
,
but
to
press
a
switch
or
turn
a
handle
,
it
was
pure
delight
to
be
doing
something
that
demanded
skill
and
patience
.
He
had
almost
finished
whittling
the
stave
into
shape
,
when
he
realized
with
a
start
that
he
was
singing
-
singing
!
It
was
as
though
,
stumbling
upon
himself
from
the
outside
,
he
had
suddenly
caught
himself
out
,
taken
himself
flagrantly
at
fault
.
Guiltily
he
blushed
.
After
all
,
it
was
not
to
sing
and
enjoy
himself
that
he
had
come
here
.
It
was
to
escape
further
contamination
by
the
filth
of
civilized
life
;
it
was
to
be
purified
and
made
good
;
it
was
actively
to
make
amends
.
He
realized
to
his
dismay
that
,
absorbed
in
the
whittling
of
his
bow
,
he
had
forgotten
what
he
had
sworn
to
himself
he
would
constantly
remember
–
poor
Linda
,
and
his
own
murderous
unkindness
to
her
,
and
those
loathsome
twins
,
swarming
like
lice
across
the
mystery
of
her
death
,
insulting
,
with
their
presence
,
not
merely
his
own
grief
and
repentance
,
but
the
very
gods
themselves
.
