. That he was rough in appearance, no one
who knew him would have wished himself able to deny, and one less like
a thief would have been hard to find. His hands were very rough and
ingrained with black; his fingers were long, but chopped off square at
the points, and had no resemblance to the long, tapering fingers of an
artist or pickpocket. His clothes were of corduroy, not very grimy,
because of the huge apron of thick leather he wore at his work, but
they looked none the better that he had topped them with his tall
Sunday hat. His complexion was a mixture of brown and browner; his
black eyebrows hung far over the blackest of eyes, the brightest
flashing of which was never seen, because all the time he played he
kept them closed tight. His face wore its natural clothing--a mustache
thick and well-shaped, and a beard not too large, of a color that
looked like black burned brown. His hair was black and curled all over
his head. His whole appearance was that of a workman; a careless glance
could never have suspected him a poet-musician; as little could even
such a glance have failed to see in him an honest man. He was
powerfully built, over the middle height, but not tall. He spoke very
fair old-fashioned English, with the Yorkshire tone and turn. His walk
was rather plodding, and his movements slow and stiff; but in communion
with his violin they were free enough, and the more delicate for the
strength that was in them; at the anvil they were as supple as
powerful. On his face dwelt an expression that was not to be read by
the indifferent--a waiting in the midst of work, as of a man to whom
the sense of the temporary was always present, but present with the
constant reminder that, just therefore, work must be as good as work
can be that things may last their due time.

The following was the conversation concerning the purport of which
Mewks was left to what conjecture was possible to a serving-man of his
stamp.

Mary held out her hand to Jasper, and it disappeared in his. He held it
for a moment with a great but gentle grasp, and, as he let it go, said:

"I took the liberty of watching for you, miss. I wanted to ask a favor
of you. It seemed to me you would take no offense."

"You might be sure of that," Mary answered. "You have a right to
anything I can do for you."

He fixed his gaze on her for a moment, as if he did not understand her.
"That's where it is," he said: "I've _done_ nothing for your people.
It's a