He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. . He was staring at her, openly gaping. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish.
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