gray eyes had a calm serenity, like remote spaces in the summer sky. The man's clothes were plain and somber. And he gave one the impression of things big and vast.
As the two entered between the plaster pillars, a tall old man came out from the county clerk's office. But for his face, he might have been one of a thousand Englishmen in Virginia. There was nothing in the big, spare figure or the cranial lines of the man to mark.
But the face seized you. In it was an unfathomable disgust with life, joined, one would say, with a cruel courage. The hard, bony jaw protruded; bitter lines descended along the planes of the face, and the eyes circled by red rims were expressionless and staring, as though, by some abominable negligence of nature, they were lidless.
The two approached, and the one so elaborately dressed spoke to the old man.
"How do you do, Northcote Moore?" he said. "You know Abner?"
The old man stopped instantly and stood very still. He moved the stick in his hand a trifle before him. Then he spoke in a high-pitched, irascible voice.
"Abner, eh! Well, what the devil is Abner here for?"
The little pompous man clenched his fingers in his yellow gloves, but his voice showed no annoyance.
"I asked him to have a look at Eastwood Court."
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