ir
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 furthest 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