ng heavily through the dusky sky, and
the lake formless and spectral beneath it.

Catherine no doubt had begun to feel agitated; she would be walking
about at midnight, too scared to go to sleep. He was sorry for her;
perhaps she would be the only one who would prefer to hear he was in
America and doing well than at the bottom of the lake. Eliza would
regret in a way, as much as her administration of the convent would
allow her; Mary would pray for him--so would Eliza, for the matter of
that; and their prayers would come easily, thinking him dead. Poor
women! if only for their peace of mind he would undertake the second
half of the crossing.

A long mile of water lay between him and Joycetown, but there was a
courage he had never felt before in his heart, and a strength he had
never felt before in his limbs. Once he stood up in the water, sorry
that the crossing was not longer. 'Perhaps I shall have had enough of it
before I get there;' and he turned on his side and swam half a mile
before changing his stroke. He changed it and got on his back because he
was beginning to feel cold and tired, and soon after he began to think
that it would be about as much as he could do to reach the shore. A
little later he was swimming frog-fashion, but the change did not seem
to rest him, and seeing the shore still a long way off he began to think
that perhaps after all he would find his end in the lake. His mind set
on it, however, that the lake should be foiled, he struggled on, and
when the water shallowed he felt he had come to the end of his strength.
'Another hundred yards would have done for me,' he said, and he was so
cold that he could not think, and sought his clothes vaguely, sitting
down to rest from time to time among the rocks. He didn't know for
certain if he would find them, and if he didn't he must die of cold. So
the rough shirt was very welcome when he discovered it, and so were the
woollen socks. As soon as he was dressed he thought that he felt nearly
strong enough to climb up the rocks, but he was not as strong as he
thought, and it took him a long time to get to the top. But at the top
the sward was pleasant--it was the sward of the terrace of the old
house; and lying at length, fearful lest sleep might overtake him, he
looked across the lake. 'A queer dusky night,' he said, 'with hardly a
star, and that great moon pouring silver down the lake.'

'I shall never see that lake again, but I shall never forget it,'