I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. "Yes—what do you mean, Ma'am?" added Jack, staggering after her.
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