look, which was exactly the same for Margaret as it was for me; for Mrs. Sherwin as for Mr. Sherwin—­exactly the same whether he spoke or whether he listened; whether he talked of indifferent, or of important matters.  Who was he?  What was he?  His name and calling were poor replies to those questions.  Was he naturally cold and unimpressible at heart? or had some fierce passion, some terrible sorrow, ravaged the life within him, and left it dead for ever after?  Impossible to conjecture!  There was the impenetrable face before you, wholly inexpressive—­so inexpressive that it did not even look vacant—­a mystery for your eyes and your mind to dwell on—­hiding something; but whether vice or virtue you could not tell.

He was dressed as unobtrusively as possible, entirely in black; and was rather above the middle height.  His manner was the only part of him that betrayed anything to the observation of others.  Viewed in connection with his station, his demeanour (unobtrusive though it was) proclaimed itself as above his position in the world.  He had all the quietness and self-possession of a gentleman.  He maintained his respectful bearing, without the slightest appearance of cringing; and displayed a decision, both in word and action, that could never be mistaken for obstinacy or over-confidence.  Before I had been in his company five minutes, his manner assured me that he must have descended to the position he now occupied.

On his introduction to me, he bowed without saying anything.  When he spoke to Mr. Sherwin, his voice was as void of expression as his face:  it was rather low in tone, but singularly distinct in utterance.  He spoke deliberately, but with no emphasis on particular words, and without hesitation in choosing his terms.

When Mrs. Sherwin came down, I watched her conduct towards him.  She could not repress a slight nervous shrinking, when he approached and placed a chair for her.  In answering his inquiries after her health, she never once looked at him; but fixed her eyes all the time on Margaret and me, with a sad, anxious expression, wholly indescribable, which often recurred to my memory after that day.  She always looked more or less frightened, poor thing, in her husband’s presence; but she seemed positively awe-struck before Mr. Mannion.

In truth, my first observation of this so-called clerk, at North Villa, was enough to convince me that he was master there—­master in his own quiet, unobtrusive way.  That man’s character, of whatever elements it might be composed, was a character that ruled.  I could not see this in his face, or detect it in his words; but I could discover it in the looks and manners of his employer and his employer’s family, as he now sat at the same table with them.  Margaret’s eyes avoided his countenance much less frequently than the eyes of her parents; but then he rarely looked at her in return—­rarely looked at her at all, except when common courtesy obliged him to do so.