He looked like a demi-god, tall, straight as the pine trunks amongst which he was standing, a frame formed for strength and activity, a face instinct with mental power, dark eyes that glowed with the fire of intellect and passion.

The sunlight gave an almost unearthly radiance to the clear dark of his complexion, the curly brown hair cut close to the finely shaped head, the broad brow and boldly modelled features.
Lesbia felt in her heart that such a man must be destined for success, born to be a conqueror in all strifes, a victor upon every field.
'Have I the thews and sinews of a man doomed to be beaten in the battle ?' he asked her.

'No, dearest; Heaven meant me to succeed; and with you to fight for I shall not be beaten by adverse fortune.

Can you not trust Providence and me ?' 'I cannot disobey my grandmother.

If she will consent----' 'She will not consent.