He was considerably above the medium height, and magnificently proportioned; indeed, his muscular development was usually the first item of his personal appearance to attract attention. It was only a second glance, with most people, that noted the calm, pure face, with its smooth, white brow, clear eyes, and firm, steadfast lips. There was something rather wonderful about those eyes, under the straight, dark brows and long, black lashes; they were so soft and utterly still in their calm, blue depths, while over their surface glanced lights of fun or anger, or darkened clouds of sorrow. Some one who loved him had once said that Ernest Clare had two souls,—one which bore the burden and heat of the day, and one which abode ever upon the spiritual mountain-tops, rapt in the contemplation of things ineffable,—and that these two souls were mirrored in his eyes. When she said it, it had been true only at times; now the two souls were one.
“It’s but a step to ‘Prices,’” said Father McClosky; “will ye walk, or ride?”
“Of course, after that delicate hint, I will walk,” replied Mr. Clare, with a smile of amusement.
“Sure, I only meant shank’s mare for ye to ride on, and carry your valise at that. Oh, ye heretic! if you did but know how glad I am to see you, and have a chance to convert ye.”
“I believe that, Bryan; part of it, anyway. Could you get a room for me at this famous co-operative place of yours?”
“Two of them,—bedroom and study.”
“Study? Whew! don’t you know I’m out of a job and poor as a church-mouse?”
“I gathered as much; but the rooms were vacated the very day I got your letter, and, as it’s not often two communicating ones can be had at ‘Prices,’ why, I took them. I know ye’ve some scheme afoot, ye spalpeen, and ye might as well be comfortable while ye carry it out.”
“But”—
“And av ye’ve no money to pay for it, there’s them that has. Things is dirt-cheap at ‘Prices,’ anyway.”