He was a man in
the prime of life; tall, spare, and muscular; his face sun-burned to a
deep brown; his black hair just turning gray; his eyes dark, deep and
firm--the eyes of a man with an iron resolution and a habit of command.
He was the nearest of the two to Magdalen, as he and his friend passed
the place where she was sitting; and he looked at her with a sudden
surprise at her beauty, with an open, hearty, undisguised admiration,
which was too evidently sincere, too evidently beyond his own control,
to be justly resented as insolent; and yet, in her humor at that moment,
Magdalen did resent it. She felt the man's resolute black eyes
strike through her with an electric suddenness; and frowning at him
impatiently, she turned away her head and looked back at the house.
The next moment she glanced round again to see if he had gone on. He
had advanced a few yards--had then evidently stopped--and was now in
the very act of turning to look at her once more. His companion, the
clergyman, noticing that Magdalen appeared to be annoyed, took him
familiarly by the arm, and, half in jest, half in earnest, forced him to
walk on. The two disappeared round the corner of the next house.
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