“Mr. Sutherland,” said Mr. Arnold, “will you show your friend anything worth note about the place? He has kindly consented to dine with us; and in the meantime I have some letters to write.” “With pleasure,” answered Hugh. But all this time he had been inwardly commenting on the appearance of his friend, as Mr. Arnold called him, with the jealousy of a youth in love; for was not Funkelstein an old acquaintance of Miss Cameron? What might not have passed between them in that old hidden time?—for love is jealous of the past as well as of the future. Love, as well as metaphysics, has a lasting quarrel with time and space: the lower love fears them, while the higher defies them.—And he could not help seeing that Funkelstein was one to win favour in ladies’ eyes. Very regular features and a dark complexion were lighted up by eyes as black as Euphra’s, and capable of a wonderful play of light; while his form was remarkable for strength and symmetry. Hugh felt that in any company he would attract immediate attention. His long dark beard, of which just the centre was removed to expose a finely-turned chin, blew over each shoulder as often as they met the wind in going round the house. From what I have heard of him from other deponents besides Hugh, I should judge that he did well to conceal the lines of his mouth in a long moustache, which flowed into his bifurcated beard. He had just enough of the foreign in his dress to add to the appearance of fashion which it bore. As they walked, Hugh could not help observing an odd peculiarity in the carriage of his companion. It was, that, every few steps, he gave a backward and downward glance to the right, with a sweeping bend of his body, as if he were trying to get a view of the calf of his leg, or as if he fancied he felt something trailing at his foot. So probable, from his motion, did the latter supposition seem, that Hugh changed sides to satisfy himself whether or not there was some dragging briar or straw annoying him; but no follower was to be discovered. “You are a happy man, Mr. Sutherland,” said the guest, “to live under the same roof with that beautiful Miss Cameron.” “Am I?” thought Hugh; but he only said, affecting some surprise: “Do you think her so beautiful?” Funkelstein’s eyes were fixed upon him, as if to see the effect of his remark. Hugh felt them, and could not conform his face to the indifference of his words. But his companion only answered indifferently: “Well, I should say so; but beauty is not, that is not beauty for us.” Whether or not there was poison in the fork of this remark, Hugh could only conjecture. He made no reply.