Fitzpiers was, on the whole, a finely formed, handsome man. His eyes
were dark and impressive, and beamed with the light either of energy or
of susceptivity--it was difficult to say which; it might have been a
little of both. That quick, glittering, practical eye, sharp for the
surface of things and for nothing beneath it, he had not. But whether
his apparent depth of vision was real, or only an artistic accident of
his corporeal moulding, nothing but his deeds could reveal.
His face was rather soft than stern, charming than grand, pale than
flushed; his nose--if a sketch of his features be de rigueur for a
person of his pretensions--was artistically beautiful enough to have
been worth doing in marble by any sculptor not over-busy, and was hence
devoid of those knotty irregularities which often mean power; while the
double-cyma or classical curve of his mouth was not without a looseness
in its close. Nevertheless, either from his readily appreciative mien,
or his reflective manner, or the instinct towards profound things which
was said to possess him, his presence bespoke the philosopher rather
than the dandy or macaroni--an effect which was helped by the absence
of trinkets or other trivialities from his attire, though this was more
finished and up to date than is usually the case among rural
practitioners.
Strict people of the highly respectable class, knowing a little about
him by report, might have said that he seemed likely to err rather in
the possession of too many ideas than too few; to be a dreamy 'ist of
some sort, or too deeply steeped in some false kind of 'ism. However
this may be, it will be seen that he was undoubtedly a somewhat rare
kind of gentleman and doctor to have descended, as from the clouds,
upon Little Hintock.
"This is an extraordinary case," he said at last to Winterborne, after
examining South by conversation, look, and touch, and learning that the
craze about the elm was stronger than ever. "Come down-stairs, and I'll
tell you what I think."
They accordingly descended, and the doctor continued, "The tree must be
cut down, or I won't answer for his life."
"'Tis Mrs. Charmond's tree, and I suppose we must get permission?" said
Giles. "If so, as she is gone away, I must speak to her agent."
"Oh--never mind whose tree it is--what's a tree beside a life! Cut it
down. I have not the honor of knowing Mrs. Charmond as yet, but I am
disposed to risk that much with her."
"'Tis timber," rejoined Giles, more scrupulous than he would have been
had not his own interests stood so closely involved. "They'll never
fell a stick about here without it being marked first, either by her or
the agent."