Most true is it that ‘beauty is in the eye of the gazer.’ My master’s colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth,—all energy, decision, will,—were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more thanbeautiful to me, they were full of an interest, an influence that quite mastered me,—that tookmy feelings from my own power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to love him; thereader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected;and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.

