His eyes seemed morbidly drawn toward it at times..

When he was ill, and poor Marty bent over his bed, ministering to him as no one but a loving old nurse can, he saw only the mole, and had to make an effort not to shrink from her.
To-night, as she lingered on the threshold, affectionately waiting to light his path, he was thinking only of her ugliness.

But when she exclaimed, with the privileged irritability of an old servant,-- "Jest look at your feet, Steve! they're wet through, an' your coat too, a standin' out in that drizzle.

Anybody 'ud think you hadn't common sense," he replied with perfect good nature, and as heartily loving a tone as if he had been feasting on her beauty, instead of writhing inwardly at her ugliness,-- "All right, Marty,--all right.

I'm not so wet as I look.