gives such a mysterious interest to our own portraits. Walter and Elinor
were not insensible to this feeling, and hastened to the painter's room,
punctually at the appointed hour, to meet those pictured shapes, which
were to be their representatives with posterity. The sunshine flashed
after them into the apartment, but left it somewhat gloomy, as they
closed the door.

Their eyes were immediately attracted to their portraits, which rested
against the farthest wall of the room. At the first glance, through the
dim light and the distance, seeing themselves in precisely their natural
attitudes, and with all the air that they recognized so well, they
uttered a simultaneous exclamation of delight.

"There we stand," cried Walter, enthusiastically, fixed in sunshine
forever! No dark passions can gather on our faces!"

"No," said Elinor, more calmly; "no dreary change can sadden us."

This was said while they were approaching, and had yet gained only an
imperfect view of the pictures. The painter, after saluting them, busied
himself at a table in completing a crayon sketch, leaving his visitors to
form their own judgment as to his perfected labors. At intervals, he
sent a glance from beneath his deep eyebrows, watching their countenances
in profile, with his pencil suspended over the sketch. They had now
stood some moments, each in front of the other's picture, contemplating
it with entranced attention, but without uttering a word. At length,
Walter stepped forward,--then back,--viewing Elinor's portrait in various
lights, and finally spoke.

"Is there not a change?" said he, in a doubtful and meditative tone.