〃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。
  〃My　easel　is　occupied　for　several　ensuing　days；　and　my　stay　in
  Boston　must　be　brief；〃　said　he；　thoughtfully；　then；　after　an　observant
  glance；　he　added：　〃but　your　wishes　shall　be　gratified；　though　I
  disappoint　the　Chief　Justice　and　Madam　Oliver。　I　must　not　lose　this
  opportunity；　for　the　sake　of　painting　a　few　ells　of　broadcloth　and
  brocade。〃
  The　painter　expressed　a　desire　to　introduce　both　their　portraits
  into　one　picture；　and　represent　them　engaged　in　some　appropriate
  action。　This　plan　would　have　delighted　the　lovers；　but　was　necessarily
  rejected；　because　so　large　a　space　of　canvas　would　have　been　unfit　for
  the　room　which　it　was　intended　to　decorate。　Two　half…length
  portraits　were　therefore　fixed　upon。　After　they　had　taken　leave；
  Walter　Ludlow　asked　Elinor；　with　a　smile；　whether　she　knew　what　an
  influence　over　their　fates　the　painter　was　about　to　acquire。
  〃The　old　women　of　Boston　affirm；〃　continued　he；　〃that　after　he
  has　once　got　possession　of　a　person's　face　and　figure；　he　may　paint
  him　in　any　act　or　situation　whatever…　and　the　picture　will　be
  prophetic。　Do　you　believe　it？〃
  〃Not　quite；〃　said　Elinor；　smiling。　〃Yet　if　he　has　such　magic；　there
  is　something　so　gentle　in　his　manner　that　I　am　sure　he　will　use　it
  well。〃
  It　was　the　painter's　choice　to　proceed　with　both　the　portraits　at
  the　same　time；　assigning　as　a　reason；　in　the　mystical　language　which
  he　sometimes　used；　that　the　faces　threw　light　upon　each　other。
  Accordingly　he　gave　now　a　touch　to　Walter；　and　now　to　Elinor；　and
  the　features　of　one　and　the　other　began　to　start　forth　so　vividly　that
  it　appeared　as　if　his　triumphant　art　would　actually　disengage　them
  from　the　canvas。　Amid　the　rich　light　and　deep　shade；　they　beheld　their
  phantom　selves。　But；　though　the　likeness　promised　to　be　perfect；
  they　were　not　quite　satisfied　with　the　expression；　it　seemed　more
  vague　than　in　most　of　the　painter's　works。　He；　however；　was
  satisfied　with　the　prospect　of　success；　and　being　much　interested　in
  the　lovers；　employed　his　leisure　moments；　unknown　to　them；　in　making　a
  crayon　sketch　of　their　two　figures。　During　their　sittings；　he
  engaged　them　in　conversation；　and　kindled　up　their　faces　with
  characteristic　traits；　which；　though　continually　varying；　it　was　his
  purpose　to　combine　and　fix。　At　length　he　announced　that　at　their
  next　visit　both　the　portraits　would　be　ready　for　delivery。
  〃If　my　pencil　will　but　be　true　to　my　conception；　in　the　few　last
  touches　which　I　meditate；〃　observed　he；　〃these　two　pictures　will　be　my
  very　best　performances。　Seldom；　indeed；　has　an　artist　such　subjects。〃
  While　speaking；　he　still　bent　his　penetrative　eye　upon　them；　nor
  withdrew　it　till　they　had　reached　the　bottom　of　the　stairs。
  Nothing；　in　the　whole　circle　of　human　vanities；　takes　stronger　hold
  of　the　imagination　than　this　affair　of　having　a　portrait　painted。
  Yet　why　should　it　be　so？　The　looking…glass；　the　polished　globes　of　the
  andirons；　the　mirror…like　water；　and　all　other　reflecting　surfaces；
  continually　present　us　with　portraits；　or　rather　ghosts；　of　ourselves；
  which　we　glance　at；　and　straightway　forget　them。　But　we　forget　them
  only　because　they　vanish。　It　is　the　idea　of　duration…　of　earthly
  immortality…　that　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。　〃Yes；　the　perception　of　it　grows　more　vivid　the　longer　I　look。
  It　is　certainly　the　same　picture　that　I　saw　yesterday；　the　dress…
  the　features…　all　are　the　same；　and　yet　something　is　altered。〃
  〃Is　then　the　picture　less　like　than　it　was　yesterday？〃　inquired　the
  painter；　now　drawing　near；　with　irrepressible　interest。
  〃The　features　are　perfect；　Elinor；〃　answered　Walter；　〃and；　at　the
  first　glance；　the　expression　seemed　also　hers。　But；　I　could　fancy　that
  the　portrait　has　changed　countenance；　while　I　have　been　looking　at　it。
  The　eyes　are　fixed　on　mine　with　a　strangely　sad　and　anxious
  expression。　Nay；　it　is　grief　and　terror！　Is　this　like　Elinor？〃
  〃Compare　the　living　face　with　the　pictured　one；〃　said　the　painter。
  Walter　glanced　sidelong　at　his　mistress；　and　started。　Motionless
  and　absorbed…　fascinated；　as　it　were…　in　contemplation　of　Walter's
  portrait；　Elinor's　face　had　assumed　precisely　the　expression　of
  which　he　had　just　been　complaining。　Had　she　practised　for　whole
  hours　before　a　mirror；　she　could　not　have　caught　the　look　so
  successfully。　Had　the　picture　itself　been　a　mirror；　it　could　not
  have　thrown　back　her　present　aspect　with　stronger　and　more
  melancholy　truth。　She　appeared　quite　unconscious　of　the　dialogue
  between　the　artist　and　her　lover。
  〃Elinor；〃　exclaimed　Walter；　in　amazement；　〃what　change　has　come
  over　you？〃
  She　did　not　hear　him；　nor　desist　from　her　fixed　gaze；　till　he
  seized　her　hand；　and　thus　attracted　her　notice；　then；　with　a　sudden
  tremor；　she　looked　from　the　picture　to　the　face　of　the　original。
  〃Do　you　see　no　change　in　your　portrait？〃　asked　she。
  〃In　mine？　None！〃　replied　Walter；　examining　it。　〃But　let　me　see！
  Yes；　there　is　a　slight　change…　an　improvement；　I　think；　in　the
  picture；　though　none　in　the　likeness。　It　has　a　livelier　expression
  than　yesterday；　as　if　some　bright　thought　were　flashing　from　the　eyes；
  and　about　to　be　uttered　from　the　lips。　Now　that　I　have　caught　the
  look；　it　becomes　very　decided。〃
  While　he　was　intent　on　these　observations；　Elinor　turned　to　the
  painter。　She　regarded　him　with　grief　and　awe；　and　felt　that　he
  repaid　her　with　sympathy　and　commiseration；　though　wherefore；　she
  could　but　vaguely　guess。
  〃That　look！〃　whispered　she；　and　shuddered。　〃How　came　it　there？〃
  〃Madam；〃　said　the　painter；　sadly；　taking　her　hand；　and　leading
  her　apart；　〃in　both　these　pictures；　I　have　painted　what　I　saw。　The
  artist…　the　true　artist…　must　look　beneath　the　exterior。　It　is　his
  gift…　his　proudest；　but　often　a　melancholy　one…　to　see　the　inmost
  soul；　and；　by　a　power　indefinable　even　to　himself；　to　make　it　glow
  or　darken　upon　the　canvas；　in　glances　that　express　the　thought　and
  sentiment　of　years。　Would　that　I　might　convince　myself　of　error　in　the
  present　instance！〃
  They　had　now　approached　the　table；　on　which　were　heads　in　chalk；
  hands　almost　as　expressive　as　ordinary　faces；　ivied　church　towers；
  thatched　cottages；　old　thunder…stricken　trees；　Oriental　and　antique
  costume；　and　all　such　picturesque　vagaries　of　an　artist's　idle
  moments。　Turning　them　over；　with　seeming　carelessness；　a　crayon　s