ow 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, enthusi