Gilbert seated himself upon the smaller of the
two benches at the end of the table; his three men took the other, and
laid aside their caps out of respect for their master. The horses were
tethered under the shed of boughs till they should be cool enough to be
watered. The southern side of the hut was sunny and warm, and the place
smelled of dry grass, of clean straw, and, faintly, of smouldering
fire.
Gilbert was hardly conscious that he was thinking of anything as he
stared out at the rolling waste, folding his hands together upon the
hilt of his long sword. Just then a man emerged from the third hut,
drew himself up facing the sun, and rubbed his eyes before he looked
toward the party at the other table. When he saw them, he hesitated for
a moment, and then came up to Gilbert with the apparent intention of
addressing him.
Above the height of average men, the figure looked unnaturally tall by
its gauntness, and the heavy folds of the grey woollen frock fell
together below the breast as if they covered a shadow. Long, bony
hands, that seemed woven of sinews and leather, but which were not
without a certain nervous refinement, hung from loose-jointed brown
wrists left bare by sleeves that were too short. The head was so
roughly angular that even the thick masses of dark brown hair which
fell to the shoulders could not make the angles seem like curves, and
the face displayed the fervent features of a fanatic--dark, hollow
cheeks, deep-sunk, blazing eyes, the vast lines of an ascetic mouth, a
great jaw scarcely fringed by the scant black beard.
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