Charles attached himself to no person in
particular, but was the friend of all; pitied and respected for his
misfortunes, allowed to come and go much as he would; regarded
rather as one set aside by Heaven for an instrument of vengeance;
standing alone, as it were, not quite like any of his comrades; a
dreamy, solitary creature, seldom talking much, often passing the
whole day in silent brooding; yet when there was fighting to be
done, waking up to a sort of Berserker fury, dealing blows with an
almost superhuman strength, and invariably filling the hearts of
his adversaries with a species of superstitious fear and dread.
For the tall, gaunt figure with the haggard face, flaming eyes, and
wildly-floating locks bore so weird an aspect that a man might be
pardoned for regarding it as an apparition. Not a particle of
colour remained in Charles's face. The flesh had shrunk away till
the bones stood out almost like skin stretched over a skull. The
hair, too, was white as snow, whilst the brows were coal black,
enhancing the effect of the luminous, fiery eyes beneath. It was
small wonder that Charles was regarded by Rangers and soldiers
alike as a thing apart. He came and went as he would, no man
interfering or asking him questions.
At the same time he seemed to regard Fritz and Stark as his chief
friends; and if they started forth with any of the Rangers, it was
generally observed that Charles would be of the company.
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