He was ruddy of complexion, freckled, and had a square chin. His eyes
were light grey, with dark lashes to them; they were startlingly light
and bright for such a sunburnt face, and seemed to glow in it like
steady fires. It was in them that resided, that sat, as it were,
enthroned, that mature, masterful expression which I never saw before
or since in one so young. I have seen the eyes of children look as if
they were searching through our world into another; that is almost
habitual in children. But here was one, apparently a boy, who seemed
to read into our circumstances (as you or I into a well-studied book)
as though they held nothing inexplicable, nothing unaccounted for.
Beyond these singular two eyes of his, his smiling mouth, with its
reminder of archaic statuary, was perhaps his only noticeable feature.
He wore the ordinary uniform of a telegraphic messenger, which in
those days was grey, with a red line down the trousers and a belt for
the tunic. His boots were of the service pattern, so were his
ankle-jacks. His hands were not cleaner than they ought to have been,
his nails well bitten back. Such was he.

Studying him closely over the top of my newspaper, by-and-by he fixed
me with his intent, bright eyes. My heart beat quicker; but when he
smiled--like the Pallas of Ægina--I smiled too. Then, without varying
his expression, even while he smiled upon me, he vanished.

Vanished! There's no other word for it: he vanished; I did not see him
go; I don't know whether he went or where he went. At one moment he
was there, smiling at me, looking into my eyes; at the next moment he
was not there. That's all there is to say about it. I flashed a
glance through the gate into Bedford Row, another up to R----
Buildings, and even ran to the corner which showed me the length and
breadth of Field Place. He was not gone any of these ways. These