His appearance, certainly, was far from being prepossessing. His face was deadly pale, and this, perhaps, was the more remarkable, in the gloomy light that prevailed, from the unnatural lustre of his eyes, the rays of which could almost be seen. The upper part of his body, above his waist, appeared to have no covering but his shirt; but, from his having a large sheet turned over his head and shoulders, in the fashion of a penance-garment, which hid it from observation, his precise dress could not be ascertained. The arm that sustained the lanthorn, however, and which was pushed out of the folds of the sheet, displayed only his shirt-sleeve, and, all things considered, this gave the conjecture warranty. His feet were bare; and his murrey-coloured hose and hanse-lines, or trousers, which could be seen through the sheet, with his drapery, and his pale features, formed altogether a figure that, remembering the locality, could not be viewed without great discomposure.
Evaline waited his approach in the utmost trepidation.
“Who have we here?” he demanded, on coming up with her.
He raised his lanthorn as he spoke, and, holding it out before him, glanced inquiringly in her face.
“Be not afeard! be not afeard!” he said, perceiving that she met his gaze with the greatest alarm. “Thou wilt have no hurt at my hands.”
These words, and the tone in which they were uttered, which was kind and gentle, somewhat reassured Evaline; and after a brief pause, she ventured to reply.
“If thou be Bernard Gray,” she said, in a tremulous tone, “I have a packet for thee, from Master Hildebrand Clifford.”
“Ah!” cried Bernard, eagerly, “where is he?”
“Alas, he is far away now!” answered Evaline. “Howbeit, before his departure, he bade me, if I should need succour, to give this packet to thee, and thou wouldst thenceforward stand my friend.”