His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. 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. "Back!" he cried fiercely. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. As Jack departed, a dark figure, emerging from behind a wall, rushed after him. “Have you not heard?” she said. . .
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