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. "And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!" CHAPTER XVII. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. They’re too free for their innocence or too innocent for their freedom. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. "A bad girl?" She put the question as she would have put any question—leveleyed and level-toned.
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