Of these, two were before Lady Staunton. One, the same who had
afforded such timely assistance, stood upright before them, a tall,
lathy, young savage; his dress a tattered plaid and philabeg, no shoes,
no stockings, no hat or bonnet, the place of the last being supplied by
his hair, twisted and matted like the _glibbe_ of the ancient wild Irish,
and, like theirs, forming a natural thick-set stout enough to bear off
the cut of a sword. Yet the eyes of the lad were keen and sparkling; his
gesture free and noble, like that of all savages. He took little notice
of David Butler, but gazed with wonder on Lady Staunton, as a being
different probably in dress, and superior in beauty, to anything he had
ever beheld. The old man, whose face they had first seen, remained
recumbent in the same posture as when he had first looked down on them,
only his face was turned towards them as he lay and looked up with a lazy
and listless apathy, which belied the general expression of his dark and
rugged features. He seemed a very tall man, but was scarce better clad
than the younger. He had on a loose Lowland greatcoat, and ragged tartan
trews or pantaloons. All around looked singularly wild and unpropitious.
Pages:
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464