an's picture in her hand.

His own so shook that he could scarcely take the case from her, to open
it; but, opened, his eyes devoured what was under them.

A half-length,--the face and physique superb. Of what color were the
hair and eyes the neutral tints of the picture gave no hint; the brow
princely, breaking the perfect oval of the face; eyes piercing and full;
the features rounded, yet clearly cut; the mouth with a curious
combination of sadness and disdain. The face was not young, yet it was
so instinct with magnificent vitality that even the picture impressed
one more powerfully than most living men, and one involuntarily
exclaimed on beholding it, "This man can never grow old, and death must
here forego its claim!"

Looking up from it with no admiration to express for the face, he saw
Francesca's smiling on it with a sort of adoration, as she, reclaiming
her property, said,--

"My father's old friends have a great deal of enjoyment, and amusement
too, from his beauty. One of them was the other day telling me of the
excessive admiration people had always shown, and laughingly insisted
that when papa was a young man, and appeared in public, in London or
Paris, it was between two police officers to keep off the admiring
crowd; and," laughing a gay little laugh herself, "of course I believed
him! why shouldn't I?"

He was looking at the picture again. "What an air of command he has!"

"Yes. I remember hearing that when Daniel Webster was in London, and
walked unattended through the streets, the coal-heavers and workmen took
off their hats and stood bareheaded till he had gone by, thinking it was
royalty that passed. I think they would do the same for papa."

"If he looks like a king, I know somebody who looks like a princess,"
thought the happy young fellow, gazing down upon the proud, dainty
figure by his side; but he smiled as he said, "What a little aristocrat
you are, Miss Ercildoune! what a pity you were born a Yankee!"

"I am not a Yankee, Mr. Surrey," replied the little aristocrat, "if to
be a Yankee is to be a native of America. I was born on the sea."

"And your mother, I know, was English."

"Yes, she was English."

"Is it rude to ask if your father was the same?

"No!" she answered emphatically, "my papa is a Virginian,--a Virginia
gentleman,"--the last word spoken with an untransferable accent,--"there
are few enough of them."

"So, so!" thought Willie, "here my riddle is read.
Southern--