He would always see the picture of the huge, raw-boned Dutchman, haranguing and thundering the word of God into the dull ears of South Sea Islanders, who, an hour later, would be carrying fruit penitently to their wooden images. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. "It is droll," he said. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off.
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