For his father and brothers lay in a bloody grave, killed in one of those many risings and insurrections scarce mentioned in history, whereby the adherents of the Red Rose sought to disturb Edward's rule in England, and incite the people to bring back him they called their rightful king.
Those days had changed Paul, a mere lad of seventeen, into a grave and sad-faced man; but the impression had gradually worn somewhat faint during the three years in which he had been a wanderer and an outcast from his home.

Of late it had seemed to him that his lost youth was returning, and certainly there was that in his bright glance and erect and noble bearing which won for him universal admiration and affection.
He was, in truth, a right goodly youth.

His features were very fine, and the dark-gray eyes with their delicately-pencilled brows were full of fire and brilliance.

The lips readily curved to a bright smile, though they could set themselves in lines of resolute determination when occasion demanded.

The golden curls clustered round the noble head in classic fashion, but were not suffered to grow long enough to reach the shoulders, as in childhood's day; and the active, graceful, well-knit figure gave indication of great strength as well as of great agility.
Paul's dress, too, was improved since we saw him last; for one of the travelling peddlers or hawkers who roamed the country with their wares, and supplied the remote villages with the greater part of those articles not made at home, had recently visited Figeon's Farm, and Paul had been able to supply himself with a new and serviceable suit of clothes, in which his tall figure was set off to the best advantage.
It was made of crimson cloth and the best Spanish leather, and was cut after one of the most recent but least extravagant fashions of the day.