The man,
mounted on a huge white Norman weight-carrier, kept the off side of the
road, his great beast trotting leisurely with a long pounding step, and
an occasional lazy shake of the big white head with the iron-grey
forelock and the well-combed mane. The rider sat square and upright in
the saddle, the plain leathern bridle neither too short nor too long in
the light strong hand, that just moved perceptibly with the horse's
step. He was a man evidently of good height, but not over tall, of
surpassing beauty of form, young in figure, but past middle age if one
judged by his hard features and already furrowed brow; his deep grey
eyes looked steadily ahead from beneath black eyebrows which contrasted
oddly with hair that was already iron-grey. There was something
immovable and fateful about the clean-shaven jaw, the broad flat chin,
the wide strong mouth--something strangely durable that contrasted with
the rich softness of his splendid dress, as though the man, and what
the man meant, were to outlive the fashions of the world.
The boy who rode by his near side, a lad of little more than twelve
years, was both like him and unlike. Sturdy, broad, short-legged,
square beyond his age, any one could see that he was never to inherit
his father's beauty of proportion and grace of bearing; but there was
something in his face that promised all his father's strength and an
even greater independence. The grey eyes were the same, but nearer
together, and almost sinister in their gaze, even at that age; the nose
was already long and rather flat than sharp, and the large straight
lips, even and close set, would have seemed strong even in a grown
man's face.
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