legant, in a costume then quite obsolete, though I believe
it was seen at the beginning of this century--white leather pantaloons and
top-boots, a buff waistcoat, and a chocolate-coloured coat, and the hair
long and brushed back.

There was a remarkable elegance and a delicacy in the features, but also a
character of resolution and ability that quite took the portrait out of the
category of mere fops or fine men. When people looked at it for the first
time, I have so often heard the exclamation--'What a wonderfully handsome
man!' and then, 'What a clever face!' An Italian greyhound stood by him,
and some slender columns and a rich drapery in the background. But though
the accessories were of the luxurious sort, and the beauty, as I have said,
refined, there was a masculine force in that slender oval face, and a fire
in the large, shadowy eyes, which were very peculiar, and quite redeemed it
from the suspicion of effeminacy.

'Is not that Uncle Silas?' said I.

'Yes, dear,' answered Mrs. Rusk, looking, with her resolute little face,
quietly on the portrait.

'He must be a very handsome man, Mrs. Rusk. Don't you think so?' I
continued.

'He _was_, my dear--yes; but it is forty years since that was painted--the
date is there in the corner, in the shadow that comes from his foot, and
forty years, I can tell you, makes a change in most of us;' and Mrs. Rusk
laughed, in cynical good-humour.

There was a little pause, both still looking on the handsome man in
top-boots, and I said--

'And why, Mrs. Rusk, is papa always so sad about Uncle Silas?'

'What's that, child?' said my father's voice, very near. I looked round,
with a start, and flushed and faltered, receding a step from him.

'No harm, dear. You have said nothing wrong,' he said gently, observing
my alarm. 'You said I was always sad, I think, about Uncle Silas. Well,
I don't know how you gather that; but if I were, I will now tell you, it
would not be unnatural. Your uncle is a man of great talents, great faults,
and great wrongs. His talents have not availed him; his faults are long ago
repented of; and his wrongs I believe he feels less than I do, but they are
deep. Did she say any more, madam?' he demanded abruptly of Mrs. Rusk.

'Nothing, sir,' with a stiff little courtesy, answered Mrs. Rusk, who stood
in awe of him.

'And there is no need, child,' he continued, addressing himself to me,
'that you should think more of him at present. Clear your head of