and warm, and loaded with passionate spices and
flower-breaths; she was alone again, under the shadows of the trees,
entirely surrendered to her whirling fancies. In these few hours she had
lived to the effect of years. She was neither hungry nor tired; she was
conscious of but a single thing,--her whole being seemed effervescing
into one wild longing after liberty. It was not that she could no longer
brook control and be at the beck of each; it was a natural instinct,
awakened at last in all the strength of maturity, that would not let her
breathe another breath in peace unless it were her own,--that made her
feel as though her chains were chafing into the bone,--that taught her
the unutterable vileness and loathliness of bonds,--that convicted her,
in being a slave, of being something foul upon the fair face of
creation. She sat casting about for ways of escape. It was absurd to
think she could again blunder on that secure retreat of the swamp before
being overtaken; no boats ever passed along down the foaming river; if
she were some little mole to hide and burrow in the ground till danger
were over,--but no, she would rather front fear and ruin than lose one
iota of her newly recognized identity. But there was no other path of
safety; she clutched the ground with both hands in her powerlessness; in
all the heaven and earth there seemed to be nothing to help her.

So at last Flor rose; since she could not get away, she must stay; as
for the next day's punishment, she could laugh at it,--it was not its
weight, but its wickedness, that troubled her; but escape, some time,
she would. Lying in wait for method, ambushed for opportunity, it would
go hard, if all failed. Of what value would life be then? she could but
throw that after. So at some time, that was certain, she would
go,--when, it was idle to say; it might be years before affairs were
more propitious than now,--but then, at last, one day, the place that
had known her should know her no more. Nevertheless, despite all this
will and resolution, the heart of the child had sunk like a plummet at
thought of leaving everything, at fear of future fortune; this
deferring, after all, was half like respite.

Flor drew near the out-door fire, where Zoe and one or two others busied
themselves. Something excited them extremely, it was plain to see and
hear. Flor, beyond the circle of the light, strained her ears to listen.
It was only a crumb of comfort that she obtained, bu