Pembroke was bewildered. There was something in the
features, in the mien of this foreigner, so like his friend Sobieski!
But then Sobieski was all frankness and animation; his cheek bloomed
with the rich coloring of youth and happiness; his eyes flashed
pleasure, and his lips were decked with smiles. On the contrary, the
person before him was not only considerably taller, and of more manly
proportions, but his face was pale, reserved, and haughty; besides,
he did not appear even to recollect the name of Somerset; and what at
once might destroy the supposition, his own was simply Constantine.
These reasonings having quickly passed through the mind of Pembroke,
they left his heart unsatisfied. The conflict of his doubts flushed
his cheeks; his bosom beat; and keeping his searching and ardent gaze
riveted on the man who was either his friend or his counterpart, on
Lady Tinemouth turning away to lay her cloak down, the eyes of the
young men met. Thaddeus turned paler than before. There is an
intelligence in the interchange of looks which cannot be mistaken; it
is the communication of souls, and there is no deception in their
language. Pembroke flew forward, and catching hold of his friend's
hand, exclaimed in an impetuous voice, "Am I right? Are you
Sobieski?"
"I am," returned Thaddeus, almost inarticulate with emotion, and
hardly knowing what to understand by Somerset's behavior.
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