The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky. Built and paved with stone, without beds, or any other sort of protection from the cold, this dreadful hole, accounted the most dark and dismal in the prison, was made the receptacle of such miserable wretches as could not pay the customary fees. Melusine came close again, and reached up a finger tentatively to the face depicted there. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. Mr. Something is feeding upon them.
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