The next morning he joined the family in the breakfast parlor, where he was received with much kindness and attention. The stranger was a young man, probably about twenty-seven, well made, and with features that must be pronounced good; but, from whatever cause it proceeded, they were felt to be by no means agreeable. It was impossible to quarrel with, or find fault with them; their symmetry was perfect; the lip well defined, but hard and evidently unfeeling; his brows, which joined each other, were black, and, what was very peculiar, were heaviest where they met--a circumstance which, notwithstanding the regularity of his other features, gave him, unless when he smiled, a frowning if not a sinister aspect. That, however, which was most remarkable in his features was the extraordinary fact that his eyes were each of a different color, one being black and piercing in its gleam, and the other gray; from which circumstance he was known from his childhood by the name of _Harry na Suil Gloir_--Suil Gloir being an epithet always bestowed by the Irish upon persons who possessed eyes of that unnatural character. This circumstance, however, was not observed on that occasion by any of the family. His general manners, though courteous, were cold, and by no means such as were calculated either to bestow or inspire confidence. His language, too, was easy enough when he spoke, but a cold habit of reserve seemed to permeate his whole being, and to throw a chill upon the feelings of those to whom he addressed himself. So much was this the case that when ever he assumed an air of familiarity a dark, strange, and undefinable spirit, which was strongly felt, seemed not only to contradict his apparent urbanity, but to impress his auditors with a sense of uneasiness sometimes amounting to pain--an impression, however, for which they could not at all account. “Sir,” said Mr. Goodwin, “I hope you slept well after what you suffered under the tempest of last night?” “I assure you, sir, I never enjoyed a rounder night's sleep in my life,” replied their guest; “and were it not for the seasonable shelter of your hospitable roof I know not what would have become of me. I am unacquainted with the country, and having lost my way, I knew not where to seek shelter, for the night was so dreadfully dark that unless by the flashes of the lightning nothing could be seen.” “It was certainly an awful--a terrible night,” observed his host; “but come, its severity is now past; let me see you do justice to your fare;--a little more ham?” “Thank you, sir,” replied the other; “if you please. Indeed, I cannot complain of my appetite, which is at all times excellent”--and he certainly corroborated the truth of his statement by a sharp and vigorous attack upon the good things before him. “Sir,” said Mrs. Goodwin, “we feel happy to have had the satisfaction of opening our doors to you last night; and there is only one other circumstance which could complete our gratification.”