\" He panted, wiping sweat off of his brow with a towel. The young male, as she had actually seen him, had been of the sailor type, hard-bitten, primordial, ruthless. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand.
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