Don Felix was a youthful-looking man, of a slight figure, and about the middle height. His complexion was dark, yet not of that sparkling darkness which we associate with the young faces of his country, but rather of a sallow tint, such as, in many instances, arises from long confinement, or from an uncertain and delicate state of health. His dark eyes, too, though brilliant, were rather subtle than deep, and more indicative of cunning, than denotive of penetration. On a first meeting, however, and to an individual who did not found impressions on the illusive and equivocal testimony of personal appearance, these unfavourable points in his _ensemble_ might have escaped notice; but Don Felix, by an unlucky fate, inherited a large share of the pride and coldness of several generations of ancestors, and these imparted to his manners a reserve and formality, that invited attention to his every defect. But though his disposition did not generally incline him to form new acquaintances, he received Hildebrand, on this occasion, with every mark of courtesy and respect. After the first interchange of compliments had been despatched, he inquired anxiously concerning the state of his wound, and expressed himself gratified, in common with his two relations, that it promised so fairly to be shortly healed. As the conversation passed to ordinary topics, he seemed, it is true, to shrink more into himself; but his reserve was less noticeable in the general animation, and thus escaped remark. The meal over, Sir Edgar announced his intention of visiting a neighbouring magistrate, named Shedlock (to whom this history has before had occasion to allude), for the purpose of acquainting him with the particulars of the affair of the preceding evening. Don Felix accompanied him; and Hildebrand and the fair Evaline, who had already become fast friends, were left to entertain each other till their return. To two persons of their turn of mind this was an easy and most agreeable employment. Hildebrand could tell, not only of strange lands, but of a strange world--of the new hemisphere, which, by the perseverance of a few daring adventurers, had just been opened to the enterprise of Europe, and added to the limits of the earth. Evaline could listen, question, and smile her gratification: the relation of “the dangers he had passed,” both by flood and field, and under every variety of fortune, unfolded to her view a new picture of life and an enlarged idea of human character. On the other hand, Hildebrand, without being vain, or making himself the hero of his own tale, found pleasure in relating and describing those dangers, because, from the interest manifested in her countenance, he saw that “she did pity them.” And thus, with the liveliest sympathies of each engaged, the morning passed quickly by, and they were only admonished of its flight by the return of Sir Edgar and Don Felix.