A great round moon had just arisen, and was casting a broad triangular light across the sea, the apex down there close to the island, its base on the far-off horizon. How calmly it shone! It seemed a holy light. But neither moon nor the bright silvery stars could soothe our young hero then.
He lit the beacon almost automatically and afterwards paced up and down for five minutes or over, then stood by the beacon resolved and firm.
A brave boy now—a hero, indeed!
"I'll do it," he said half-aloud. "Oh, how I should like to take my Oscar with me, but I shall not, cannot! I'll suffer myself rather than let dear kind Daddy suffer."
He felt easier now and happier, and returned smiling to the hut; and the hermit played and sang for an hour at least.
There was a kind of incubus at Creggan's heart when he awoke next morning, and for a time he could not quite make out what it meant. Then all at once he remembered his doggie. The recollection came so suddenly back to him that at first he was nearly crying. But he jumped out of bed, and lightly dressing went down the cliffs with Oscar to enjoy his morning swim.
Then back to breakfast.
Well, you know, reader, "sorrow may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning".
It did. For that very forenoon a humble friend of Creggan's—Archie—came off in a shore-boat, bringing a long letter for the hermit, and a childish but loving scrawl from Matty to Creggan. He put that carefully away, and determined to take it to sea with him.
He certainly was a romantic boy, and this is not to be wondered at seeing the wild life he led, the wild scenery around him, and the voice of the sounding sea ever changing and ever telling him something new.