Rose, Blanche, and Violet, Volume I by George Henry Lewes

I know I love in vain -- strive against hope -- / Yet in this captious and intenible sieve / I still pour out the waters of my love, / And lack not to love still. / SHAKSPEARE. -- _All's Well that Ends Well._

When Cecil re-entered the drawing-room, he found it exactly as he had left it, except that Tom Wincot was playing whist in place of Captain Heath, who stood leaning against the mantelpiece, with his left hand caressing the shaggy head of Shot; that favoured animal stood with his fore-paws resting on the fender, and his face raised inquiringly, as if to ascertain the reason of his friend's paleness. Pale, indeed, was the handsome face of that brave, sorrowing man; and the keen sympathy of the hound had read in its rigidity and calmness the signs of suffering, which escaped the notice of every one else. True it is that the captain somewhat shielded his face from observation by, with his left hand, twirling his moustache, a practice too habitual with him to call forth any remark.