His countenance was prematurely marked by deep furrows, and his grizzled hair waved over a low, rugged, and forbidding brow, on which there hung an everlasting frown that no smile from the lips (and the man smiled often) could chase away.

It was a face that spoke of long-continued and hardened vice--it was one in which the Past had written indelible characters.

The brand of the hangman could not have stamped it more plainly, nor have more unequivocally warned the suspicion of honest or timid men.
He was employed in counting some few and paltry coins, which, though an easy matter to ascertain their value, he told and retold, as if the act could increase the amount.

"There must be some mistake here, Alice," he said in a low and muttered tone: "we can't be so low--you know I had two pounds in the drawer but Monday, and now--Alice, you must have stolen some of the money--curse you." The person thus addressed sat at the opposite side of the smouldering and sullen fire; she now looked quietly up, and her face singularly contrasted that of the man.
She seemed about fifteen years of age, and her complexion was remarkably pure and delicate, even despite the sunburnt tinge which her habits of toil had brought it.

Her auburn hair hung in loose and natural curls over her forehead, and its luxuriance was remarkable even in one so young.