From that day onward for many days the witch's thoughts were concentrated on wreaking retribution. She gave herself up to the dark world, the powers of sorcery, the occult rites and magic incantations, the recital of which released curses upon curses. She spent her days and nights in solitude, away from her people; she fasted; her whole powers of brain and heart were directed upon that house by the lake. Well she knew the fatal efficacy of projected thought, exercise of will power for good or for ill. She was sustained by her intense faith in the deadly potency that she repeated and mentally projected against her enemy.

Night after night the witch sat by the waters of Whiro, the dark god, the spirit of wizardry. She set up her wands of incantation, beside the sacred spring, where the ancient tuahu, the altar-like white stone, stood; the tapu place where none but herself could set foot. The image of her precious and lost treasure was ever before her; it gave added force to the curses that she launched, borne on the resistless current of her hate.