stuffs; he wore a diamond brooch in his beaver, and sashes, tied like garters, round his thin legs, which were utterly destitute of calf.  Preposterously large roses covered his shoes; his ruff was a “treble-quadruple-dedalion;” his gloves richly embroidered; a large crimson satin purse hung from his girdle; and he was scented with powders and pulvilios.  This withered coxcomb affected the mincing gait of a young man; and though rather an object of derision than admiration with the fair sex, persuaded himself they were all captivated by him.  The vast sums he so unjustly acquired did not long remain in his possession, but were dispersed in ministering to his follies and depravity.  Timorous he was by nature, as we have said, but cruel and unrelenting in proportion to his cowardice; and where an injury could be securely inflicted, or a prostrate foe struck with impunity, he never hesitated for a moment.  Sir Giles himself was scarcely so malignant and implacable.

A strong contrast to this dastardly debauchee was offered by the bolder villain.  Sir Giles Mompesson was a very handsome man, with a striking physiognomy, but dark and sinister in expression.  His eyes were black, singularly piercing, and flashed with the fiercest fire when kindled by passion.  A finely-formed aquiline nose gave a hawk-like character to his face; his hair was coal-black (though he was no longer young), and hung in long ringlets over his neck and shoulders.  He wore the handsomely cut beard and moustache subsequently depicted in the portraits of Vandyke, which suited the stern gravity of his countenance.  Rich, though sober in his attire, he always affected a dark colour, being generally habited in a doublet of black quilted silk, Venetian hose, and a murrey-coloured velvet mantle.  His conical hat was ornamented with a single black ostrich feather; and he carried a long rapier by his side, in the use of which he was singularly skilful; being one of Vincentio Saviolo’s best pupils.  Sir Giles was a little above the middle height, with a well proportioned athletic figure; and his strength and address were such, that there seemed good reason for his boast when he declared, as he often did, “that he feared no man living, in fair fight, no, nor any two men.”

Sir Giles had none of the weaknesses of his partner.  Temperate in his living, he had never been known to commit an excess at table; nor were the blandishments or lures of the fair sex ever successfully spread for him.  If his arm was of iron, his heart seemed of adamant, utterly impenetrable by any gentle emotion.  It was affirmed, and believed, that he had never shed a tear.  His sole passion appeared to be the accumulation of wealth; unattended by the desire to spend it.  He bestowed no gifts.  He had no family, no kinsmen, whom he cared to acknowledge.  He stood alone—­a hard, grasping man:  a bond-slave of Mammon.