d was shaking the apple-trees, and he went back to bed,
thinking that if it did not drop suddenly he would not be able to swim
across the lake that evening. The hours passed between sleeping and
waking, thinking of the newspaper articles he would write when he got to
America, and dreaming of a fight between himself and an otter on the
shore of Castle Island. Awaking with a cry, he sat up, afraid to seek
sleep again lest he might dream of drowning men. 'A dream robs a man of
all courage,' and then falling back on his pillow, he said, 'Whatever my
dreams may be I shall go. Anything were better than to remain taking
money from the poor people, playing the part of a hypocrite.'

And telling Catherine that he could not look through her accounts that
morning, he went out of the house to see what the lake was like.
'Boisterous enough; it would take a good swimmer to get across to-day.
Maybe the wind will drop in the afternoon.'

The wind continued to rise, and next day he could only see white waves,
tossing trees, and clouds tumbling over the mountains. He sat alone in
his study staring at the lamp, the wind often awaking him from his
reverie; and one night he remembered suddenly that it was no longer
possible for him to cross the lake that month, even if the wind should
cease, for he required not only a calm, but a moonlight night. And going
out of the house, he walked about the hilltop, about the old thorn-bush,
his hands clasped behind his back. He stood watching the moon setting
high above the south-western horizon. But the lake--where was it? Had he
not known that a lake was there, he would hardly have been able to
discover one. All faint traces of one had disappeared, every shape was
lost in blue shadow, and he wondered if his desire to go had gone with
the lake. 'The lake will return,' he said, and next night he was on the
hillside waiting for the lake to reappear. And every night it emerged
from the shadow, growing clearer, till he could follow its winding
shores. 'In a few days, if this weather lasts, I shall be swimming out
there.' The thought crossed his mind that if the wind should rise again
about the time of the full moon he would not be able to cross that year,
for in September the water would be too cold for so long a swim. 'But it
isn't likely,' he said; 'the weather seems settled.'

And the same close, blue weather that had prevailed before the storm
returned, the same diffused sunlight.

'There is nothing