As the old man spoke these last words, he had drawn himself up to his full height, his right arm was lifted, and the clenched fist drove the nails into the palm of his hand. Suddenly it fell to his side, and turning from his companion he sought the opening of the cave and disappeared in the night. The leader stood alone. The light from the pine logs began slowly to die out, shadows clothed the walls of the cave and advanced along the floor, and save a small pool of red light below and a faint flickering glow on the roof above, everything was in darkness. Still the leader remained with his arms crossed, motionless; various thoughts disturbed his heart, thoughts of the old days when he was a fisher lad; thoughts of the bivouac and the battle, of the stories of the camp fire, of the long yearning in foreign fields for his own old island home, of the oppression of the people, of the loyalty of his followers, of their faith in him, of the brave work he had hoped to do for them, and then of the sweet face of the girl that he knew never could be his, but for whose sake he would have plucked his eyes out and gone through a thousand deaths. He knew the old man had spoken truly; he knew that her father was one of the bitterest and most hated of the oppressors of his people, and yet he had to confess to himself that for her sake he had sought to gain for him the long day. The last flickering embers were almost dead. Suddenly he became aware of the darkness around, and with an effort, bracing himself up, he sought to chase the harassing thoughts away from him and left the cave.
The cave was by the sea-shore; it was far up on the cliffs, its entrance was concealed by a projecting rock, and was known to very few. A rugged ascent scarcely safe to even the most practised feet, and dangerous to any but a man of the firmest nerves, led up to it from the beach. When the leader stepped through the outlet the strong sea breeze restored him to himself. He descended cautiously until he reached the strand. To the right lay his home. For a moment he turned in that direction, but only for a moment, and then he went the opposite way. After walking for a quarter of an hour he again ascended the cliff, and reaching the table land advanced with quick steps until he found the road. Having gone three or four hundred yards, a light piercing far through the darkness from the window of a square building, that looked half fortress and half mansion, caught his eyes. There was a wild stir in his heart, and the blood rushed fiercely through his veins. He walked like one fascinated. He knew not what he thought; he only felt that if with every forward step death should grip him by the throat he should still go on. At last he stood almost close enough to the lighted windows to touch them with his hand. He looked into the room which was on the ground floor. Pictures and books and embroidery were there; a bright fire sparkled on the hearth, candles fixed against the walls made the room almost as light as day. There was no one visible. Just as he was about to turn away in despair the door opened and a radiant girl entered. She advanced towards the fireplace, shuddered a little as if cold, and stretched her soft white hands over the blaze, and the ruddy glow stained the white lilies on her cheeks. Something like a sob stuck in his throat, and when a moment after her father entered the room, and the Whiteboy chief remembered the sentence in the cave, with a moan, like that of a dumb animal in pain, he staggered helplessly away and sought his home.