She came in with some trepidation and uneasiness, glancing furtively all about her, with the look of a hunted creature in her eyes.

Her son, who followed her, was more at his ease, but he also had a worried and careworn look.

Both were warmly but very poorly clad, and both worn and weatherbeaten of aspect.
The old woman might have passed anywhere for a witch, so wizened and weird she was, of small stature, and bent nearly double by years and rheumatism.

Her small hands were withered away into claws, and her head was covered with a thick and tangled mat of hair, half dark, half grey, which gave her the look almost of the Fuegian savages who come off from the shore in their flat rafts and clamour to you for "rum" in the Straits of Magellan.

Her eyes were intensely bright, and shone like hot coals in her dusky, wrinkled face.