Then all at once it struck Phoebe that this very Judge Pyncheon was the
original of a miniature which Mr. Holgrave--who took portraits, and
whose acquaintance she had made within a few hours of her arrival--had
shown her yesterday. There was the same hard, stern, relentless look on
the face. In reality, the miniature was copied from an old portrait of
Colonel Pyncheon which hung within the house. Was it that the expression
had been transmitted down as a precious heirloom, from that Puritan
ancestor, in whose picture both the expression, and, to a singular
degree, the features, of the modern judge were shown as by a kind of
prophecy?

But as it happened, scarcely had Phoebe's eyes rested again on the
judge's countenance than all its ugly sternness vanished, and she found
herself almost overpowered by the warm benevolence of his look. But the
fantasy would not quit her that the original Puritan, of whom she had
heard so many sombre traditions, had now stepped into the shop.

"You seem to be a little nervous this morning," said the judge. "Has
anything happened to disturb you--anything remarkable in Cousin
Hepzibah's family--an arrival, eh? I thought so! To be an inmate with
such a guest may well startle an innocent young girl!"

"You quite puzzle me, sir!" replied Phoebe. "There is no frightful guest
in the house, but only a poor, gentle, child-like man, whom I believe to
be Cousin Hepzibah's brother. I am afraid that he is not quite in his
sound senses; but so mild he seems to be that a mother might trust her
baby with him. He startle me? Oh, no, indeed!"

"I rejoice to hear so favourable and so ingenious an account of my