XIXWe went straight to the lake, as it was called at Bly, and Idaresay rightly called, though I reflect that it may in fact havebeen a sheet of water less remarkable than it appeared to myuntraveled eyes. My acquaintance with sheets of waterwas small, andthe pool of Bly, at all events on the few occasions of myconsenting, under the protection of my pupils, to affront itssurface in the old flat-bottomed boat moored there for our use, hadimpressed me both with its extent and its agitation.The usual placeof embarkation was half a mile from the house, but I had anintimate conviction that, wherever Flora might be, she was not nearhome. She had not given me the slip for any small adventure, and,since the day of the very great one that I hadshared with her bythe pond, I had been aware, in our wal
