Willis was a slight, under-sized man, of about fifty; his complexion was muddy and indefinite; his small whiskers, of a grayish red, were trimmed and pruned as accurately as a box border-edging, and the partial absence of eyebrows and eyelashes gave his face a sort of unfinished look.  The expression natural to it was, I think, a low, vicious cunning; but his features and little green eyes were so rigidly disciplined that, as a rule, neither had any characteristic save utter vacuity.  In his own line he was perfect.  No commission that could be intrusted to him would draw from him a remark or a look of surprise.  He executed precisely what he was told, and fulfilled the minutest duties of his station irreproachably, with a noiseless, feline activity.  He was like the war-horse of the Douglas: 

             “Though somewhat old,
     Swift in his paces, cool, and bold.”

He held a miniature-case in his hand as he entered.  “Am I to put this in, sir?” he asked, in the slow, measured voice that was habitual to him.

His master gazed sharply at him, as if trying to detect a covert sneer—­it would have been safer to have stroked a rattlesnake’s crest than to have trifled with Livingstone just then—­but Willis’s face was as innocent of any expression as a dead wall.

“Put it down, and go on with your packing; you have no time to spare.”  The man laid the case on a marble table near, and went out.

Guy took the miniature and regarded it steadfastly for some moments, then he looked up and caught my eye.  Perhaps there was an eager appeal there (for I knew well whose likeness lay before him) which displeased and provoked his sullen temper; for he frowned darkly, and then his clenched hand fell with the crashing weight of a steam-hammer.  Nothing but a heap of shivered wood, glass, and ivory remained of what had been the life-like image of Constance Brandon.

A thrill of horror shot through me icily, and a low cry burst from my lips.  I felt at that moment as if the blow had fallen, not on the portrait, but on the original.

But I kept silence.  The dark hour was on Saul, and I knew no spell to chase the evil spirit away.

Guy spoke at last.  His manner was unusually chill and constrained.

“I expect to meet Mohun in Paris, and we shall probably go on to Vienna.  I hardly like troubling you with commissions, but I must.  Listen.  I leave my own name—­and another person’s—­in your keeping.  I wish it to be clearly understood that the engagement was broken off by Miss Brandon, not by me.  If you hear any man speak disparagingly of her in connection with what has passed, you can insult him on my behalf as grossly as you please.  I will be here, as fast as steam can bring me, to back what you may have said or done.  This is the only point in which I hope you will guard my honor.  As for blaming me, they may say what they please.  Do you quite understand?  And will you promise?”