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. My father died a year ago, by the way. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. Poor young lady! She trembled too, and was unable to give her evidence.
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