She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. "Then I advise you to look sharply after him, Mr. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat. ‘If you care for me at all, shoot me. I am afraid because I love you, so that the mere thought of failure hurts.
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