It was that of a man who might have been of any age and of any nation, for the features were so distorted that nothing could be learned from them.

One eyelid was drooping with a puckering and flatness which showed that the ball was gone.

The other, however, shot as bright and merry and kindly a glance as ever came from a chosen favourite of fortune.

His face was flecked over with peculiar brown spots which had a most hideous appearance, and his nose had been burst and shattered by some terrific blow.

And yet, in spite of this dreadful appearance, there was something so noble in the carriage of the man, in the pose of his head and in the expression which still hung, like the scent from a crushed flower, round his distorted features, that even the blunt Puritan seaman was awed by it.
"Good-evening, my children," said the stranger, picking up his pictures again and advancing towards them.