KENILWORTH - Penn State University

Sir Walter Scottner resembling that used by fine gentlemen of our own day,escaped in sable negligence from under a furred bonnet, andhung in elf-locks, which seemed strangers to the comb, overhis rugged brows, and around his very singular and unprepossessingcountenance. His keen, dark eyes were deep set beneathbroad and shaggy eyebrows, and as they were usuallybent on the ground, seemed as if they were themselves ashamedof the expression natural to them, and were desirous to concealit from the observation of men. At times, however, when,more intent on observing others, he suddenly raised them,and fixed them keenly on those with whom he conversed,they seemed to express both the fiercer passions, and the powerof mind which could at will suppress or disguise the intensityof inward feeling. The features which corresponded with theseeyes and this form were irregular, and marked so as to beindelibly fixed on the mind of him who had once seen them.Upon the whole, as Tressilian could not help acknowledgingto himself, the Anthony Foster who now stood before themwas the last person, judging from personal appearance, uponwhom one would have chosen to intrude an unexpected andundesired visit. His attire was a doublet of russet leather, likethose worn by the better sort of country folk, girt with a buffbelt, in which was stuck on the right side a long knife, ordudgeon dagger, and on the other a cutlass. He raised his eyesas he entered the room, and fixed a keenly penetrating glanceupon his two visitors; then cast them down as if counting hissteps, while he advanced slowly into the middle of the room,and said, in a low and smothered tone of voice, “Let me prayyou, gentlemen, to tell me the cause of this visit.”He looked as if he expected the answer from Tressilian, sotrue was Lambourne’s observation that the superior air ofbreeding and dignity shone through the disguise of an inferiordress. But it was Michael who replied to him, with theeasy familiarity of an old friend, and a tone which seemedunembarrassed by any doubt of the most cordial reception.“Ha! my dear friend and ingle, Tony Foster!” he exclaimed,seizing upon the unwilling hand, and shaking it with suchemphasis as almost to stagger the sturdy frame of the personwhom he addressed, “how fares it with you for many a longyear? What! have you altogether forgotten your friend, gossip,and playfellow, Michael Lambourne?”“Michael Lambourne!” said Foster, looking at him a mo-39