ue　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　than　beautiful　to　me；　they　were　full　of　an　interest；　an　influence　that　quite　mastered　me；—that　took　my　feelings　from　my　own　power　and　fettered　them　in　his。　I　had　not　intended　to　love　him；　the　reader　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　m