It was the visage of a man of thought and character.
His eyes spoke of late hours and the lamp; beneath each was a heavy
pocket of skin, wrinkling at its juncture with the cheek. His teeth
were those of an incessant smoker, and, in truth, you could seldom
come near him without detecting the odour of tobacco. Despite the
amplitude of his proportions, there was nothing ponderous about him;
the great head was finely formed, and his limbs must at one time
have been as graceful as they were muscular.
'Is this accident,' Hubert asked; 'or did you know me at the time?'
'Accident, pure accident. Will you walk to the vicarage with me?'
They paced side by side.
'Mrs. Eldon profits by the pleasant weather, I trust?' the vicar
observed, with grave courtesy.
'Thank you, I think she does. I shall be glad when she is settled in
her new home.'
They approached the door of the vicarage in silence. Entering Mr.
Wyvern led the way to his study. When he had taken a seat, he
appeared to forget himself for a moment, and played with the end of
his bean
Hubert showed impatient curiosity.
'You found me there by chance that morning?' he began.
The clergyman returned to the present. His elbows on either arm of
his round chair, he sat leaning forward, thoughtfully gazing at his
companion.
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