n 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.

"Thy name, friend?"

"Hugh Withers, please you, my lord duke."

"Um! North country, by thine accent. Dost thou serve this Master
Warner?"

"No, my lord, I was only hired with my mule to carry--"

"Ah, true! to carry what thy pannier contains; open it. Holy Paul! a
strange jonglerie indeed! This Master Adam Warner,--methinks, I
have heard his name--a learned man--um--let me see his safe conduct.
Right,--it is Lord Hastings's signature." But still the prince held the
passport, and still suspiciously eyed the Eureka and its appliances,
which, in their complicated and native ugliness of doors, wheels,
pipes, and chimney, were exposed to his view. At this moment, one of the
attendants of Henry descended the stairs of the Wakefield Tower, with a
request that the model might be carried up to divert the prisoner.