Everything round him made him feel so good, so much like the purest
christian of the olden time. He tells her, with great seriousness,
that we must serve God, and not forget poor human nature, never! To
the world he would seem labouring under the influence of those inert
convictions by which we strive to conceal our natural inclinations,
while drawing the flimsy curtain of "to do good" over the real
object.
He winks and blinks, rubs his eyes, works his face into all the
angles and contortions it is capable of, and commences searching for
his hat and spectacles. Both are necessary adjuncts to his pious
appearance; without them there is that in the expression of his
countenance from which none can fail to draw an unfavourable opinion
of his real character. The haggard, care-worn face, browned to the
darkest tropical tints; the ceaseless leer of that small, piercing
eye, anxiety and agitation pervading the tout ensemble of the man,
will not be dissembled. Nay; those acute promontories of the face,
narrow and sharp, and that low, reclining forehead, and head covered
with bristly iron-grey hair, standing erect in rugged tufts, are too
strong an index of character for all the disguises Elder Pemberton
Praiseworthy can invent.
"One minute, my dear madam," he exclaims, in his eagerness for the
lost ornaments of his face.
"Never mind them, Elder; never mind them! In my eyes you are just as
well without them," she rejoins, an ironical smile invading her
countenance, and a curl of contempt on her lip.
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