The man was dead -- or his fickle fancy had veered elsewhere . Nothing else could explain his absence . But they could never know , and the uncertainty would forever stand between him and Lynde like a spectre . But he thought more of Lynde 's pain than his own . He would have elected to bear any suffering if by so doing he could have freed her from the nightmare dread of Harmon 's returning to claim her . That dread had always hung over her and now it must be intensified to agony by her love for another man . And he could do nothing -- nothing . He groaned aloud in his helplessness . One evening in late November Alan flung aside his pen and yielded to the impulse that urged him to the lake shore . He did not mean to seek Lynde -- he would go to a part of the shore where there would be no likelihood of meeting her . But get away by himself he must . A November storm was raging and there would be a certain satisfaction in breasting its buffets and fighting his way through it . Besides , he knew that Isabel King was in the house and he dreaded meeting her . Since his conviction that she had written that letter to Lynde , he could not tolerate the girl and it tasked his self-control to keep from showing his contempt openly . Perhaps Isabel felt it beneath all his outward courtesy . At least she did not seek his society as she had formerly done . It was the second day of the storm ; a wild northeast gale was blowing and cold rain and freezing sleet fell in frequent showers . Alan shivered as he came out into its full fury on the lake shore . At first he could not see the water through the driving mist . Then it cleared away for a moment and he stopped short , aghast at the sight which met his eyes .
Opposite him was a long low island known XXXXX Philip 's Point , dwindling down at its northeastern side to two long narrow bars of quicksand .
At Besides as for like on over than that through