"Others have done so much before me, sir, and have not made the less good
men," spoke Val, in his desperation.
Dr. Ashton could not help admiring the man, as he stood there in his
physical beauty. In spite of his inward anger, his condemnation, his
disappointment--and they were all very great--the good looks of Percival
Elster struck him forcibly with a sort of annoyance: why should these men
be so outwardly fair, so inwardly frail? Those good looks had told upon
his daughter's heart; and they all loved _her_, and could not bear to
cause her pain. Tall, supple, graceful, strong, towering nearly a head
above the doctor, he stood, his pleasing features full of the best sort
of attraction, his violet eyes rather wider open than usual, the waves of
his silken hair smooth and bright. "If he were only half as fair in
conduct as in looks!" muttered the grieved divine.
But those violet eyes, usually beaming with kindness, suddenly changed
their present expression of depreciation to one of rage. Dr. Ashton gave
a pretty accurate description of how the crisis had been brought to his
knowledge--that Lord Hartledon had come to the Rectory, with his mistaken
assailant, to be identified; and Percival Elster's anger was turned
against his brother. Never in all his life had he been in so great a
passion; and having to suppress its signs in the presence of the Rector
only made the fuel burn more fiercely.
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