could strictly be called handsome. Of the two, Alwyn had the advantage
of more youthful prime, of a taller stature, of a more powerful, though
less supple and graceful, frame. In their very dress, there was little
of that marked distinction between classes which then usually prevailed,
for the dark cloth tunic and surcoat of Hastings made a costume even
simpler than the bright-coloured garb of the trader, with its broad
trimmings of fur, and its aiglettes of elaborate lace. Between man
and man, then, where was the visible, the mighty, the insurmountable
difference in all that can charm the fancy and captivate the eye, which,
as he gazed, Alwyn confessed to himself there existed between the two?
Alas! how the distinctions least to be analyzed are ever the sternest!
What lofty ease in that high-bred air; what histories of triumph seemed
to speak in that quiet eye, sleeping in its own imperious lustre; what
magic of command in that pale brow; what spells of persuasion in that
artful lip! Alwyn muttered to himself, bowed his head involuntarily, and
passed on at once from Hastings to Sibyll, who now, at the distance of
some yards, had arrested her steps, in surprise to see the conference
between the nobleman and the burgher.

But as he approached Sibyll, poor Alwyn felt all the firmness and
courage he had exhibited with Hastings melt away. And the trepidation
which a fearful but deep affection ever occasions in men of his
character, made his movements more than usually constrained and awkward,
as he cowered beneath the looks of the maid he so truly loved.

"Seekest thou me, Master Alwyn?" asked Sibyll, gently, seeing that,
though he paused by her side, he spoke not.

"I do," returned Alwyn, abruptly, and again he was silent. At length,
lifting his eyes and looking round him, he saw Hastings at the distance,
leaning against the rampart, with folded arms; and the contrast of his
rival's cold and arrogant indifference, and his own burning veins and
bleeding heart, roused up his manly spirit, and gave to his tongue the
eloquence which emotion gains when it once breaks the fetters it forges
for itself.

"Look, look, Sibyll!" he said, pointing to Hastings "look! that man you
believe loves you. If so--if he loved thee,--would he stand yonder--mark
him--aloof, contemptuous, careless--while he knew that I was by your
side?"

Sibyll turned upon the goldsmith eyes full of innocent surprise,--eyes
that asked, plainly as eyes could