Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. “I should think YOU could do all sorts of things. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it.
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