priest's life befell him before the story opens, and to keep the story
in the key in which it was conceived, it was necessary to recount the
priest's life during the course of his walk by the shores of a lake,
weaving his memories continually, without losing sight, however, of the
long, winding, mere-like lake, wooded to its shores, with hills
appearing and disappearing into mist and distance. The difficulty
overcome is a joy to the artist, for in his conquest over the material
he draws nigh to his idea, and in this book mine was the essential
rather than the daily life of the priest, and as I read for this edition
I seemed to hear it. The drama passes within the priest's soul; it is
tied and untied by the flux and reflux of sentiments, inherent in and
proper to his nature, and the weaving of a story out of the soul
substance without ever seeking the aid of external circumstance seems to
me a little triumph. It may be that I heard what none other will hear,
not through his own fault but through mine, and it may be that all ears
are not tuned, or are too indifferent or indolent to listen; it is
easier to hear 'Esther Waters' and to watch her struggles for her
child's life than to hear the mysterious warble, soft as lake water,
that abides in the heart. But I think there will always be a few who
will agree with me that there is as much life in 'The Lake,' as there is
in 'Esther Waters'--a different kind of life, not so wide a life,
perhaps, but what counts in art is not width but depth.

Artists, it is said, are not good judges of their own works, and for
that reason, and other reasons, maybe, it is considered to be unbecoming
for a writer to praise himself. So to make atonement for the sins I have
committed in this preface, I will confess to very little admiration for
'Evelyn Innes' and 'Sister Teresa.' The writing of 'Evelyn Innes' and
'Sister Teresa' was useful to me inasmuch that if I had not written them
I could not have written 'The Lake' or 'The Brook Kerith.' It seems