Always of a fine figure, his bearing
grew more dauntless and graceful,--the dangers of the sea taught him
self-control,--the swift changes of the sky gave him the far-off
rapt expression and keen flash of his eyes,--the pitiful sorrows of
the poor, in which, as he had elected to be one of them, he was
bound to share, had deepened the sympathetic lines round his
delicate mouth, and had bestowed upon his whole countenance that
look which is seldom seen save in the classic marbles--the look of
being one with, and yet above mankind. All the different classes of
people with whom he had managed to associate had called him
"gentleman", a name he had gently but firmly repudiated. "Call me a
Man, and let me deserve the title!" he would say smilingly, and his
"mates" hearing this would eye each other askance, and whisper among
themselves "that he WAS a gentleman for all that, though no doubt he
had come down in the world and had to work for his living. And no
shame to him as he gave himself no airs, and could turn a hand to
anything." And so the time moved on, and he remained in the Cornish
fishing village till his book was finished. Then he suddenly went up
to London;--and after a few days' absence came back again, and went
contentedly on with the fishing once more.
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