do not let him paint the look
which you now wear," said her lover, smiling, though rather perplexed.
"There! it is passing away now; but when you spoke, you seemed
frightened to death, and very sad besides. What were you thinking of?"

"Nothing, nothing!" answered Elinor, hastily. "You paint my face with
your own fantasies. Well, come for me tomorrow, and we will visit this
wonderful artist."

But when the young man had departed, it cannot be denied that a
remarkable expression was again visible on the fair and youthful face
of his mistress. It was a sad and anxious look, little in accordance
with what should have been the  of a maiden on the eve of
wedlock. Yet Walter Ludlow was the chosen of her .

"A look!" said Elinor to herself. "No  that it startled him if
it expressed what I sometimes feel. I know by my own experience how
frightful a look may be. But it was all . I thought nothing of it
at the time; I have seen nothing of it since; I did but wordnetdesire it;" and
she busied herself about the embroidery of a ruff in which she meant
that her portrait should be taken.

The painter of whom they had been