Mr. Tulliver was an essentially¹ sober man — able to take his glass and not averse² to it, but never exceeding the bounds of moderation. He had naturally an active Hotspur temperament³, which did not crave⁴ liquid fire to set it aglow⁵; his impetuosity was usually equal to an exciting occasion without any such reinforcements; and his desire for the brandy-and-water implied that the too sudden joy had fallen with a dangerous shock on a frame depressed⁶ by four years of gloom and unaccustomed hard fare. But that first doubtful tottering⁷ moment passed, he seemed to gather strength with his gathering⁸ excitement; and the next day, when he was seated at table with his creditors⁹, his eye kindling¹⁰ and his cheek flushed with the consciousness that he was about to make an honorable figure once more, he looked more like the proud, confident, warm-hearted, and warm-tempered Tulliver of old times than might have seemed possible to any one who had met him a week before, riding along as had been his wont¹¹ for the last four years since the sense of failure and debt had been upon him — with his head hanging down, casting brief, unwilling¹² looks on those who forced themselves on his notice. He made his speech, asserting his honest principles with his old confident eagerness,

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