Getting up, he walked out of the room, feeling in a way that a calmer
and more judicious letter would be preferable. But he must answer Father
O'Grady, and at once; the letter would have to go. And in this resolve
he walked out of his house into his garden, and stood there wondering at
the flower-life growing so peacefully, free from pain.

The tall Madonna lilies flourished like sculpture about the porch, and
he admired their tall stems and leaves and carven blossoms, thinking how
they would die without strife, without complaint. The briar filled the
air with a sweet, apple-like smell; and far away the lake shone in the
moonlight, just as it had a thousand years ago when the raiders returned
to their fortresses pursued by enemies. He could just distinguish Castle
Island, and he wondered what this lake reminded him of: it wound in and
out of gray shores and headlands, fading into dim pearl-coloured
distance, and he compared it to a shroud, and then to a ghost, but
neither comparison pleased him. It was like something, but the image he
sought eluded him. At last he remembered how in a dream he had seen Nora
carried from the lake; and now, standing among the scent of the flowers,
he said: 'She has always been associated with the lake in my thoughts,
yet she escaped the lake. Every man,' he continued, 'has a lake in his
heart.' He had not sought the phrase, it had come suddenly into his
mind. Yes, 'Every man has a lake in his heart,' he repeated, and
returned to the house like one dazed, to sit stupefied until his
thoughts took fire again, and going to his writing-table he drew a sheet
of paper towards him, feeling that he must write to Nora. At last he
picked up the pen.