Being on the eve of marriage， Walter Ludlow and Elinorwere eager to obtain their portraits as the first of what，they doubtless hoped， would be a long series of familypictures. The day after the conversation above recordedthey visited the painter’s rooms. A servant ushered theminto an apartment where， though the artist himself wasnot visible， there were personages whom they could hardlyforbear greeting with reverence. They knew， indeed，that the whole assembly were but pictures， yet felt itimpossible to separate the idea of life and intellect fromsuch striking counterfeits. Several of the portraits wereknown to them either as distinguished characters of theday or their private acquaintances. There was GovernorBurnett， looking as if he had just received an undutifulcommunication from the House of Representatives andwere inditing a most sharp response. Mr. Cooke hungbeside the ruler whom he opposed， sturdy and somewhatpuritanical， as befitted a popular leader. The ancient ladyof Sir William Phipps eyed them from the wall in ruff andfarthingale， an imperious old dame not unsuspected ofwitchcraft. John Winslow， then a very young man， worethe expression of warlike enterprise which long afterwardmade him a distinguished general. Their personal friendswere recognized at a glance. In most of the picturesthe whole mind and character were brought out on thecountenance and concentrated into a single look； so that，to speak paradoxically， the originals hardly resembledthemselves so strikingly as the portraits did.
Among these modern worthies there were two oldbearded saints who had almost vanished into the darkeningcanvas. There was also a pale but unfaded Madonna whohad perhaps been worshipped in Rome， and now regardedthe lovers with such a mild and holy look that they longedto worship too.
“How singular a thought，” observed Walter Ludlow，“that this beautiful face has been beautiful for above twohundred years！ Oh， if all beauty would endure so well！ Doyou not envy her， Elinor？”
“If earth were heaven， I might，” she replied. “But， whereall things fade， how miserable to be the one that could notfade！”
“This dark old St. Peter has a fierce and ugly scowl， saintthough he be，” continued Walter； “he troubles me. But theVirgin looks kindly at us.”
“Yes， but very sorrowfully， methinks，” said Elinor.
The easel stood beneath these three old pictures，sustaining one that had been recently commenced. Aftera little inspection they began to recognize the featuresof their own minister， the Rev. Dr. Colman， growing intoshape and life， as it were， out of a cloud.
“Kind old man！” exclaimed Elinor. “He gazes at me as ifhe were about to utter a word of paternal advice.”
“And at me，” said Walter， “as if he were about to shakehis head and rebuke me for some suspected iniquity. Butso does the original. I shall never feel quite comfortableunder his eye till we stand before him to be married.”
They now heard a footstep on the floor， and， turning，beheld the painter， who had been some moments in theroom and had listened to a few of their remarks. He wasa middle-aged man with a countenance well worthy of hisown pencil. Indeed， by the picturesque though carelessarrangement of his rich dress， and perhaps because his souldwelt always among painted shapes， he looked somewhatlike a portrait himself. His visitors were sensible of akindred between the artist and his works， and felt as ifone of the pictures had stepped from the canvas to salutethem.
Walter Ludlow， who was slightly known to the painter，explained the object of their visit. While he spoke asunbeam was falling athwart his figure and Elinor’s withso happy an effect that they also seemed living pictures ofyouth and beauty gladdened by bright fortune. The artistwas evidently struck.
“My easel is occupied for several ensuing days， and mystay in Boston must be brief，” said he， thoughtfully； then，after an observant glance， he added， “But your wishesshall be gratified though I disappoint the chief-justice andMadame Oliver. I must not lose this opportunity for thesake of painting a few ells of broadcloth and brocade.”
The painter expressed a desire to introduce both theirportraits into one picture and represent them engaged insome appropriate action. This plan would have delightedthe lovers， but was necessarily rejected because so large aspace of canvas would have been unfit for the room whichit was intended to decorate. Two half-length portraits weretherefore fixed upon. After they had taken leave， WalterLudlow asked Elinor， with a smile， whether she knewwhat an influence over their fates the painter was about toacquire.
“The old women of Boston affirm，” continued he， “thatafter he has once got possession of a person’s face andfigure he may paint him in any act or situation whatever，and the picture will be prophetic. Do you believe it？”
“Not quite，” said Elinor， smiling. “Yet if he has suchmagic， there is something so gentle in his manner that Iam sure he will use it well.”