te, appeared somewhat
negligent of the good cheer set before him. Edith heard, without reply,
many courtly speeches addressed to her, in a tone of voice of that happy
modulation which could alike melt in the low tones of interesting
conversation, and rise amid the din of battle, "loud as a trumpet with a
silver sound." The sense that she was in the presence of the dreadful
chief upon whose fiat the fate of Henry Morton must depend--the
recollection of the terror and awe which were attached to the very name
of the commander, deprived her for some time, not only of the courage to
answer, but even of the power of looking upon him. But when, emboldened
by the soothing tones of his voice, she lifted her eyes to frame some
reply, the person on whom she looked bore, in his appearance at least,
none of the terrible attributes in which her apprehensions had arrayed
him.

Grahame of Claverhouse was in the prime of life, rather low of stature,
and slightly, though elegantly, formed; his gesture, language, and
manners, were those of one whose life had been spent among the noble and
the gay. His features exhibited even feminine regularity. An oval face, a
straight and well-formed nose, dark hazel eyes, a complexion just
sufficiently tinged with brown to save it from the charge of effeminacy,
a short upper lip, curved upward like that of a Grecian statue, and
slightly shaded by small mustachios of light brown, joined to a profusion
of long curled locks of the same colour, which fell down on each side of
his face, contributed to form such a countenance as limners love to paint
and ladies to look upon.

The severity of his character, as well as the higher attributes of
undaunted and enterprising valour which even his enemies were compelled
to admit, lay concealed under an exterior which seemed adapted to the
court or the saloon rather than to the field. The same gentleness and
gaiety of expression which reigned in his features seemed to inspire his
actions and gestures; and, on the whole, he was generally esteemed, at
first sight, rather qualified to be the votary of pleasure than of
ambition. But under this soft exterior was hidden a spirit unbounded in
daring and in aspiring, yet cautious and prudent as that of Machiavel
himself. Profound in politics, and embued, of course, with that disregard
for individual rights which its intrigues usually generate, this leader
was cool and collected in danger, fierce and ardent in pursuing succe