He found himself in the presence of a tall, bowed man, with a
large-featured white face, thin and worn, and a deep-sunken eye that
gleamed with an unhealthy life. His hair was thin, but covered his
head, and was only streaked with gray. His hands were long and thin
and white; his feet in large shoes, looking the larger that they
came out from narrow trousers, which were of shepherd-tartan. His
coat was of light-blue, with a high collar of velvet, and much too
wide for him. A black silk neckerchief tied carelessly about his
throat, and a waistcoat of pineapple shawl-stuff, completed his
dress. On one long little finger shone a stone which Donal took for
an emerald. He motioned his visitor to a seat, and went on writing,
with a rudeness more like that of a successful contractor than a
nobleman. But it gave Donal the advantage of becoming a little
accustomed to his surroundings. The room was not large, was
wainscoted, and had a good many things on the walls: Donal noted two
or three riding whips, a fishing rod, several pairs of spurs, a
sword with golden hilt, a strange looking dagger like a flame of
fire, one or two old engravings, and what seemed a plan of the
estate. At the one window, small, with a stone mullion, the summer
sun was streaming in. The earl sat in its flood, and in the heart
of it seemed cold and bloodless. He looked about sixty years of
age, and as if he rarely or never smiled. Donal tried to imagine
what a smile would do for his face, but failed. He was not in the
least awed by the presence of the great man. What is rank to the
man who honours everything human, has no desire to look what he is
not, has nothing to conceal and nothing to compass, is fearful of no
to-morrow, and does not respect riches! Toward such ends of being
the tide of Donal's life was at least setting. So he sat neither
fidgeting nor staring, but quietly taking things in.