lendid ornaments of their abode. They hung side by side,
separated by a narrow panel, appearing to eye each other constantly,
yet always returning the gaze of the spectator. Travelled gentlemen,
who professed a knowledge of such subjects, reckoned these among the
most admirable specimens of modern portraiture; while common observers
compared them with the originals, feature by feature, and were
rapturous in praise of the likeness. But it was on a third
class--neither travelled connoisseurs nor common observers, but people
of natural sensibility--that the pictures wrought their strongest
effect. Such persons might gaze carelessly at first, but, becoming
interested, would return day after day, and study these painted faces
like the pages of a mystic volume. Walter Ludlow's portrait attracted
their earliest notice. In the absence of himself and his bride, they
sometimes disputed as to the expression which the painter had intended
to throw upon the features; all agreeing that there was a look of
earnest import, though no two explained it alike. There was less
diversity of opinion in regard to Elinor's picture. They differed,
indeed, in their attempts to estimate the nature and depth of the gloom
that dwelt upon her face, but agreed that it was gloom, and alien from
the natural temperament of their youthful friend. A certain fanciful
person announced, as the result of much scrutiny, that both these
pictures were parts of one design, and that the melancholy strength of
feeling, in Elinor's countenance, bore reference to the more vivid
emotion, or, as he termed it, the wild passion, in that of Walter.
Though unskilled in the art, he even began a sketch, in which the
action of the two figures was to correspond with their mutual
expression.

It was whispered among friends, that, day by day, Elinor's face was
assuming a deeper shade of pensiveness, which threatened soon to render
her too true a counterpart of her melancholy picture. Walter, on the
other hand, instead of acquiring the vivid look which the painter had
given him on the canvas, became reserved and downcast, with no outward
flashes of emotion, however it might be smouldering within. In course
of time, Elinor hung a gorgeous curtain of purple silk, wrought with
flowers, and fringed with heavy golden tassels, before the pictures,
under pretence that the dust would tarnish their hues, or the light dim
them. It was enough. Her visitors felt that the massive f