The easel stood beneath these three old pictures, sustaining one that
had been recently commenced. After a little inspection they began to
recognize the features of their own minister, the Rev. Dr. Colman,
growing into shape and life, as it were, out of a cloud.

"Kind old man!" exclaimed Elinor. "He gazes at me as if he were about
to utter a word of paternal advice."

"And at me," said Walter, "as if he were about to shake his head and
rebuke me for some suspected iniquity. But so does the original. I
shall never feel quite comfortable under his eye till we stand before
him to be married."

They now heard a footstep on the floor, and, turning, beheld the
painter, who had been some moments in the room and had listened to a
few of their remarks. He was a middle-aged man with a countenance well
worthy of his own pencil. Indeed, by the picturesque though careless
arrangement of his rich dress, and perhaps because his soul dwelt
always among painted shapes, he looked somewhat like a portrait
himself. His visitors were sensible of a kindred between the artist
and his works, and felt as if one of the pictures had stepped from the
canvas to salute them.

Walter Ludlow, who was slightly known to the painter, explained the
object of their visit. While he spoke a sunbeam was falling athwart
his figure and Elinor's with so happy an effect that they also seemed
living pictures of youth and beauty gladdened by bright fortune. The
artist was evidently struck.