His complexion had the pale, transparent darkness of eastern climes, and his eye a kind of shadowy splendor, impossible to describe, but which reminded me at once of his mother's similitude of the "clouded star." He was not above the common height of man, yet he gave me an impression of power and dignity, such as mere physical force could never inspire.
"Is this Grandison Place?
my home ?" he asked, lifting his hat with gentlemanly grace from his brows.

His voice, too, had that cultivated, well-modulated tone, which always marks the gentleman.
"It is, sir," I answered, trying to speak without embarrassment.

"Mr.
Linwood, I presume." I thought I had made a mistake in his name, it sounded so strange.

I had never heard him called any thing but Ernest Linwood, and Mr.Linwood had such a stiff, formal sound, I was quite disgusted with it.
He again bowed, and looked impatiently towards the house.
"I saw a young female and thought it might be my sister, or I should not have intruded.

Shall I find her,--shall I find my mother within ?" "They have gone to meet you,--they have been looking for you these many days; I know not how you have missed them." "By coming another road.