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Updated: May 11, 2025
"What must it be, then, to suffer so for twenty years?" It was a third voice that seemed to wake the echoes of that lonesome cavern. Solomon looked up in terror, and beheld a third face, that of Robert Balfour, but transfigured. He held the glowing brand above him, so that his deep-lined features could be distinctly seen, and they were all instinct with a deadly rage and malice.
His face has grown long from much experience, and deep-lined with wisdom. He seems a normal part of civilization; he literally passes in and out of the city gates, roams at large through my town, and dens within the limits of my farm.
"No! no!" cried the man again raising his haggard face, deep-lined with the marks of suffering, "No I am not sure. Can you not see? It is that that is killing me. Yet in my sane moments I know that he was dead. He lay there, so white, so still, with only that red, red stream of blood to mar his whiteness.
He was about to resume his way again, when an elderly man, clad in the garb of a respectable citizen, and with a strong deep-lined face which marked him as a man of character, darted forward, and threw himself down upon one knee in front of the monarch. "Justice, sire, justice!" he cried. "What is this, then?" asked Louis. "Who are you, and what is it that you want?"
The faces of two were pale and deep-lined; the face of the third expressed a mixture of condolence and triumph. These three gentlemen were the archbishop, the chancellor and the Austrian ambassador. History has not taken into account what passed between these three men, but subsequent events proved that it signified disaster to one who dreamed of conquest and of power.
The lower half was obscured by a white bulk that shouldered up against the sash in the likeness of a muffled figure stooping to peer in. Lying in his bunk against the wall, the packer watched this sentinel snowdrift grow and become human and bold and familiar. His deep-lined visage was reduced to its bony structure.
My first vivid impression of his face I remember it afterward shining with a strange inward illumination was not favourable. It was a deep-lined, scarred, worn-looking face, insignificant if not indeed ugly in its features, and yet, even at the first glance, revealing something inexplainable incalculable "Good day, friend," I said heartily.
She wore a widow's cap and a black gown, and I saw in her deep-lined face a resemblance to her son. "Madam," I said, the title coming naturally, "I owe Captain Paul a debt I can never repay." "An' him but a laddie!" she cried. "I'm thankful, John, I'm thankful for his mither that ye saved him." "I have no mother, Madam Paul," said I, "and my father was killed in the French war.
Stanley Hopkins led us first to the house, where he introduced us to a haggard, grey-haired woman, the widow of the murdered man, whose gaunt and deep-lined face, with the furtive look of terror in the depths of her red-rimmed eyes, told of the years of hardship and ill-usage which she had endured.
There was something in the Interpreter's manner something in the weary, drooping figure in that wheel chair in the tired, deep-lined face in the pain-filled eyes and the gentle voice that went to the deeps of Helen Ward's woman heart. With her, as with every one in Millsburgh, the strike was a topic of daily conversation. She sympathized with her brother in his anxiety.
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