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path was narrow, bounded by the treacherous waters below and soggy marshes above. She looked inland and spied several cows in the distance starting home for milking. The candlelight in the stone and thatch cottage looked cozy as the animals ambled toward the dwelling. She too decided to turn toward home.
    India hopped from one flat stone to the other, jumping over mossy bogs on her way back to the manor. The house was a tall severe structure set back from the coastline. From the upper windows, the sweeping panorama of the sea was visible. India loved this place, finding it wildly beautiful but lonely.
    Her skirts were soaked, and her hair fell around her face in tangles when she reached the front door. "Good evening Mr. Peadar," India said to the guard.
    He was a large, middle aged man with scars etched on his face like a map. He tipped his hat and opened the door for her. India stepped over the threshold, pulling her gloves off. She walked through the massive hall wishing she had started a fire before leaving. There was just enough daylight left to find her way to the library. After lighting a fire she grabbed a cloth and toweled her hair off, sitting down at her desk with a sigh.  She noticed the housekeeper had left her sliced mutton, bread and cheese on a tray.
    Tonight after supper India decided to compose a letter to their best patron in the Delaware Colony. She sat back in her chair chewing and mentally composing her letter. She picked up her quill and began to write. She worked late into the night, encrypting large quantities of information about the rebellion into a letter which seemed to be nothing more than news of the day. It was a painstaking process and required intense concentration for hours.
    The candles burned low and the fire needed another log when she finally finished her task. Except for her desk, the library was in darkness. She sat back and looked around the room. At last she had grown accustomed to being alone in these large houses. Being busy helped her immensely. If her mind was occupied then her imagination could not plague her.
    India straightened up in her chair and stretched from side to side. After sanding her letter, she placed it in an envelope for Colm's approval and stood up. Walking to the window she pulled the heavy drape back. She gazed at the lawns stretching out to the sea. It was a clear night and even though there was no moon, the stars cast a silver glow on the leaves wet with dew.
    India needed some fresh air before Colm got home so she decided to take a walk before bed. Pulling on her cloak and gloves, India opened the front door. Marcas Peadar was still there. "My goodness Mr. Peadar," she said. "You are still here. Have you eaten?"
    "Aye, Lady Fitzpatrick. That I have," was his reply.
    "Well, will your replacement be here soon?" she pressed.
    "Aye, milady."
    India paused a moment then said, "Well then, I am going to the cliff walk for about twenty minutes."
    He tipped his hat, and she set out for the coastline. India liked to walk, especially in the evenings. There were fewer distractions at night, and she seemed more in tune with the rhythm of her footsteps. She thought the cottages in the distance looked pretty with candlelight flickering in the windows. Even though it was a wild and remote place she liked it here by the sea. The steady beat of the waves soothed her. Listening to it kept her from worrying about Colm. India tried not to dwell on the dangers he encountered every night, but she knew violence was a fact of his life. His men were loyal and committed, but it was small consolation when they encountered the well-armed and ruthless British garrisons.
    India stopped and looked out to sea. Sometimes it all seemed too much to bear. She wanted to run away, maybe to America to start a new life. She wanted peace and stability, a home and children. Yet, she and Colm were committed to something more important, something fine and worthy that would bring peace and stability to