Crispin rowed steadily on, thinking of the first time he had rowed a small boat through those drifting white wreaths, and how bleak and wretched everything had seemed. At the thought of all that had happened since, how much and how good it had been, he was astonished. He could not have imagined such wonderful years. Every dip and swish of the oars in the quiet night water took him deeper into the mists, and with every stroke he knew that what he was doing was the right thing, the only thing to do; and his heart became more and more at one with the Heart that made him.