" "Don't anger him, my dear son," implored the poor widow, with a look of anguish at Jack. I could not love you else. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. She was obliged to concede that his features were pleasing, his strength and vitality attractive; and there was no denying how well this uniform of a militia suited his figure, which was lean and powerful both.
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