eelings!"

At the moment he raised his eye, and was almost dazzled or startled by
a picture that hung in the upper region of the lofty saloon without the
ornament of a frame. A girl's head with delicately tangled flaxen locks
and a playful smile was peeping down, in a light undress, one shoulder
partly bare, which looked full and glossy; in her long tapering fingers
she held a fresh-blown rose close to her ruddy lips. "Now really,"
cried Edward aloud, "if this is a picture of Rubens, as it must be,
that glorious man surpassed all other masters in such subjects! That
lives! That breathes! How the fresh rose blooms against the still
fresher lips! How softly and delicately do the hues of both play into
one another, and yet so distinctly parted! And that polish of the
rounded shoulder, the flaxen hair scattered over it in disorder! How is
it possible that old Walther can hang his best piece so high up and
without a frame, when all the other trash glitters in the most costly
decorations?"

He raised his eye again, and began to comprehend what a mighty art is
painting, for the picture grew more and more instinct with life. "No,
those eyes!" he said again to himself, entirely lost in gazing; "how
could pencil and colour produce any thing like that? Does not one see
the bosom pant, the fingers and the round arm in motion?"

And so it was indeed: for at the instant the lovely form raised itself,
and with an expression of roguish playfulness flung down the rose,
which flew against the young man's face, then drew back and shut the
little window, which rung as it closed.

Startled and ashamed, Edward picked up the rose. He now clearly
remembered the narrow passage above, which ran parallel to the saloon,
and led to the upper rooms of the house: the other little windows were
hung with pictures; this only had, to gain light, been left as it was,
and the master of the house used often from this spot to survey the
strangers who visited his gallery. "Is it possible," said Edward, after
he had called to mind all these circumstances, "that little Sophia can
in a space of four years have grown such a beauty?" Unconsciously and
in strange distraction he pressed the rose to his lips, then leaned
against the wall, his eyes fixed on the ground, and did not observe for
some seconds that old Walther was standing by his side, till the
latter, with a friendly slap on the shoulder, roused him from his
reverie. "Where were you, young man?" said