terrible circumstances connected with his accession to the throne,
under the bloody name of Richard the Third, roused all men's hearts
and reasons into the persuasion that what before had seemed virtue was
but dissimulation,--this singular sweetness, we say, of manner and
voice, had in it, nevertheless, something that imposed and thrilled
and awed. And in truth, in our common and more vulgar intercourse
with life, we must have observed, that where external gentleness of
bearing is accompanied by a repute for iron will, determined
resolution, and a serious, profound, and all-inquiring intellect, it
carries with it a majesty wholly distinct from that charm which is
exercised by one whose mildness of nature corresponds with the outward
humility; and, if it does not convey the notion of falseness, bears
the appearance of that perfect self-possession, that calm repose of
power, which intimidates those it influences far more than the
imperious port and the loud voice. And they who best knew the duke,
knew also that, despite this general smoothness of mien, his
temperament was naturally irritable, quick, and subject to stormy
gusts of passion, the which defects his admirers praised him for
labouring hard and sedulously to keep in due control. Still, to a
keen observer, the constitutional tendencies of that nervous
temperament were often visible, even in his blandest moments, even
when his voice was most musical, his smile most gracious. If
something stung or excited him, an uneasy gnawing of the nether lip, a
fretful playing with his dagger, drawing it up and down from its
sheath, [Pol. Virg. 565] a slight twitching of the muscles of the
face, and a quiver of the eyelid, betokened the efforts he made at
self-command; and now, as his dark eyes rested upon Hugh's pale
countenance, and then glanced upon the impassive mule, dozing quietly
under the weight of poor Adam's model, his hand mechanically sought
his dagger-hilt, and his face took a sinister and sombre expression.