paper, in large, rude letters,

_Her answer: Yes, or No._

It was a frameless crayon, thrust aside and somewhat overshadowed by a
huge and garish thing in gaudy-flowered gilt, which easily caught and
held the eye of the busy throng.

The Youth passed on to his duty of the day with Hope in his heart. Light
grew his heavy task, and the drudgery of his work was forgotten--he was
haunted by the sight of that face in the Picture. The softness of the
eye, the sweetness of the mouth, or something, made the Youth of the
noisy Town believe her answer would surely be--Yes.

Now the Youth and the Afternoon Shadows together came and feasted on the
beauty of that Maiden's face. The Shadows, without booty, fled away into
the night. But not so with the Youth. In triumph he brought it to the
favored room of his own dear home; and always thereafter this Picture
gleamed in beauty from out its chimney-piece setting of ebony and old
cherry.

She was always pretty, sometimes beautiful, but not always the same,
this my Lady of the Picture. She was indeed a changeful Lady, as the
story will tell. Those who saw her face when first she was given the
place of honor in the home of this Youth, with Hope in his heart, all
said, and with one accord, "There is but one answer for her to make, and
that one answer is, Yes."

The Easter-tide growing old, and the Summer time new and beautiful,
brought no change. The last light of each day fell on the clear-cut and
delicate face, gilded the dark hair with a deep russet brown, played
about the sweet mouth--and was gone, leaving her with answer yet
ungiven.

The first fire of the Autumn crackled and glowed on the tiled hearth,
and threw a Shadow on the face of the pretty girl in the Picture; and
from that moment there was a change. "But it is only a Shadow from the
fire-light glow," said the Youth of the Town. But something within
whispered, "You are wrong; she is going to say, No."

Again and again the words repeated themselves, clearly and distinctly,
"You are wrong! you are wrong! you are wrong!" Then vaguely and almost
inaudibly, "She is going to say, No;" with his own voice he made effort
to drown the words of that fateful refrain. "It is the idle, spiteful
chatter of some evil spirit. My heart is full of Hope, and I will not
believe it." But that night, alone with his book and the face over the
fire, only embers on the hearth--_the Shadow was still there_. But
he said that it was a wild and