The elder of the two was a man of about six or seven-and-twenty years of age, of the middle height, or perhaps somewhat less, slight in appearance, from the extreme accuracy of all his proportions, though in reality much stronger than many men of a more powerful look. His features were slightly aquiline, but chiseled with wonderful delicacy. The hair was dark, but the eye clear and blue, with that calm, firm, but mild expression, which we are inclined to attach to vigor of character when united with gentleness of heart. His mien and air were particularly distinguished by a sort of easy dignity, which rendered it impossible to see him without feeling that there was not only a gentleman of high race and associations, but a man of remarkable powers of mind, of which he was conscious, but not vain. The companion of this personage was in years a mere youth, but in form a strong and active man. He was darker in complexion than the other, taller, more muscular, and the well-grown beard showed that boyhood was no more. His countenance was also very handsome; but there was in it a stern and fiery look, which reminded one of a fierce warhorse when checked by the rein; and occasionally as he talked, there would come a scowling frown upon his brow, which rendered the expression very different from that of his companion. Nevertheless, there was traceable in the features a strong resemblance, so that in the angry moments of the one, which indeed were rare, or the gayer and gentler moments of the other, there was no difficulty in pronouncing them two brothers. "Well, John," said the elder of the two, as they turned in their walk, "I wish much you would abandon your intention of riding back to-night. I would fain put eight-and-forty hours between your rash impetuosity and your meeting again with your former friend. You seem so little moved by reason, that I would see what time can do." "I tell you, Dalhousie," said his brother, "I am not going to quarrel with him. Indeed, he will take care how he gives me occasion, I think. But I and Alexander Ruthven can never more be friends. His pride is insufferable, and his favour with the queen, be it good and honest, as some would have us think, be it dishonest and disloyal, as others suspect, can give him no claim to reverence from others as good as himself, or better perhaps." "Is there no pride at the bottom of your own feelings towards him, John?" asked his brother, with a smile; "and is there not, perhaps, a little jealousy of that same favour that you speak of, which makes you look upon it in an unfair light? Ruthven's sister is the queen's dearest friend; and is it at all unnatural that a portion of her regard for the sister should be extended to the brother?"