A second glance
was not needed to inform us who he was. His locks were tangled,
and fell confusedly over his forehead and ears. His shirt was of
coarse stuff, and open at the neck and breast. His coat was once
of bright and fine texture, but now torn and tarnished with dust.
His feet, his legs, and his arms, were bare. His features were the
seat of a wild and tranquil solemnity, but his eyes bespoke
inquietude and curiosity.
He advanced with a firm step, and looking as in search of some one.
He saw me and stopped. He bent his sight on the floor, and,
clenching his hands, appeared suddenly absorbed in meditation.
Such were the figure and deportment of Wieland! Such, in his
fallen state, were the aspect and guise of my brother!
Carwin did not fail to recognize the visitant. Care for his own
safety was apparently swallowed up in the amazement which this
spectacle produced. His station was conspicuous, and he could not
have escaped the roving glances of Wieland; yet the latter seemed
totally unconscious of his presence.
Grief at this scene of ruin and blast was at first the only
sentiment of which I was conscious.
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