connoisseurs nor common observers, but people of natural sensibility--
that the pictures wrought their strongest effect. Such persons might
gaze carelessly at first, but, becoming interested, would return day
after day, and study these painted faces like the pages of a mystic
volume. Walter Ludlow's portrait attracted their earliest notice. In
the absence of himself and his bride, they sometimes disputed as to the
expression which the painter had intended to throw upon the features; all
agreeing that there was a look of earnest import, though no two explained
it alike. There was less diversity of opinion in regard to Elinor's
picture. They differed, indeed, in their attempts to estimate the nature
and depth of the gloom that dwelt upon her face, but agreed that it was
gloom, and alien from the natural temperament of their youthful friend.
A certain fanciful person announced, as the result of much scrutiny, that
both these pictures were parts of one design, and that the melancholy
strength of feeling, in Elinor's countenance, bore reference to the more
vivid emotion, or, as he termed it, the wild passion, in that of Walter.
Though unskilled in the art, he even began a sketch, in which the action
of the two figures was to correspond with their mutual expression.

It was whispered among friends, that, day by day, Elinor's face was
assuming a deeper shade of pensiveness, which threatened soon to render
her too true a counterpart of her melancholy picture. Walter, on the
other hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which the painter had
given him on the canvas, became reserved and downcast, with no outward
flashes of emotion, however it might be smouldering within. In course of
time, Elinor hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk, wrought with
flowers, and fringed with heavy golden tassels, before the pictures,
under pretence that the dust would tarnish their lines, or the light din
them. It was enough. Her visitors felt, that the massive folds of the
silk must never be withdrawn, nor the portraits mentioned in her