eyes looked steadily ahead from beneath black eyebrows which contrasted
oddly with hair that was already iron-grey. There was something
immovable and fateful about the clean-shaven jaw, the broad flat chin,
the wide strong mouth--something strangely durable that contrasted with
the rich softness of his splendid dress, as though the man, and what
the man meant, were to outlive the fashions of the world.

The boy who rode by his near side, a lad of little more than twelve
years, was both like him and unlike. Sturdy, broad, short-legged,
square beyond his age, any one could see that he was never to inherit
his father's beauty of proportion and grace of bearing; but there was
something in his face that promised all his father's strength and an
even greater independence. The grey eyes were the same, but nearer
together, and almost sinister in their gaze, even at that age; the nose
was already long and rather flat than sharp, and the large straight
lips, even and close set, would have seemed strong even in a grown
man's face. The boy sat upon his small grey Andalusian horse as if he
had lived a lifetime in the saddle, but his twelve-year-old hand was
heavier on the bridle than ever his father's had been.

There was something in the bearing of the two, father and son, so
kingly and high that Gilbert, who had been brought up in Norman
courtesy, involuntarily rose in the saddle as much as his long stirrups
would allow, and lifted his cap from his head, supposing, as was
natural, that he was saluting the lord of the lands through which he
was travelling. The other returned the salutation with a wave of the
hand, looked sharply at Gilbert, and then, to the latter's surprise,
drew rein, the lad beside him ranging back half a length so as not to
be in the way between the other two. For a few seconds neither said a
word. Then the elder man, as though expecting something of which the