Somewhere, in the silver waters of Pine Lake he had buried a burden.

He felt lighter, younger.

Had his very love for Molly become a load whose proper name was remorse?
Had his heart harboured regret and fear under the name of sorrow?
Or had he never loved at all, never really sorrowed?
Had the thing he called love been but a boy's hot passion caught in the grip of a man's awakening will, a mistake made irrevocable by a stubbornness of purpose which could not face defeat?
Whatever it had been, it had come to be a burden.
And the burden had lightened--it pressed no longer.

In a word, he was free! He was his own man again, unafraid, able to look into his heart, to open all the windows--no dark corners, no haunting ghosts! He could enter now without the dread of echoing footsteps or wistful, half-heard whisperings.

The shade of pretty, childish Molly would vex no more.
The relief of it--the pain of it! It was like a new birth.
Meanwhile the strong, sure strokes were bringing them swiftly nearer the opposite shore where yellow dots of light proclaimed the position of the summer cottages.