There was something in the stranger that at once arrested attention--a freedom, and a command of manner--self-possession joined to energy. It might be difficult to guess his age, for his face had been exposed to the bronzing influence of a tropical climate, and the smoothness of youth was exchanged for the deeper lines of maturity, without anything being as yet taken from the vigour of the limbs, or the perfection of those portions of the frame and face, which so soon show marks of decay. He might have reached the verge of thirty, but he could not be older--and might be younger. His figure was active, sinewy, and strong--upright as a soldier (indeed, a military air was diffused all over his person); he was tall, and, to a certain degree, handsome; his dark gray eyes were piercing as an eagle's, and his forehead high and expansive, though somewhat distorted by various lines that spoke more of passion than thought; yet his face was eminently intelligent; his mouth, rather too large in its proportions, yet grew into beauty when he smiled--indeed, the remarkable trait of his physiognomy was its great variation--restless, and even fierce; the expression was often that of passionate and unquiet thoughts; while at other times it was almost bland from the apparent smoothness and graceful undulation of the lines. It was singular, that when communing only with himself, storms appeared to shake his muscles and disfigure the harmony of his countenance--and that, when he addressed others, all was composed--full of meaning, and yet of repose. His complexion, naturally of an olive tint, had grown red and adust under the influence of climate--and often flushed from the inroads of vehement feeling. You could not doubt at the instant of seeing him, that many singular, perhaps tragical, incidents were attached to his history--but conviction was enforced that he reversed the line of Shakspeare, and was _less_ sinned against than sinning--or, at least, that he had been the active machinator of his fate, not the passive recipient of disappointment and sorrow. When he believed himself to be unobserved, his face worked with a thousand contending emotions, fiery glances shot from his eyes--he appeared to wince from sudden anguish--to be transported by a rage that changed his beauty into utter deformity: was he spoken to, all these tokens vanished on the instant--dignified, calm, and even courteous; though cold, he would persuade those whom he addressed that he was one of themselves--and not a being transported by his own passions and actions into a sphere which every other human being would have trembled to approach. A superficial observer had pronounced him a good fellow, though a little too stately--a wise man had been pleased by the intelligence and information he displayed--the variety of his powers, and the ease with which he brought forward the stores of his intellect to enlighten any topic of discourse. An independent and a gallant spirit he surely had--what,