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In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome. How could you draw the curtain aside which hides the great and holy places of life—you, who have never loved?” “You have become French to the core,” she murmured. ‘In fact, I’ve never met anyone who goaded me to so much violence. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. CHAPTER IV.
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