” He passed his hand wearily over his forehead. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. “Of course!” he said. " "I know where she will be found, and how," rejoined Jack with a shudder. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. ’ She gestured at his hand, on which Roding’s makeshift bandage had been replaced by a more efficient one. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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