HOUGH her picture has been with me but these few short weeks it has so crept into my past that I can conceive not the room without it. I had not thought myself solitary here before, but now should her face vanish from my wall I were indeed in ashes. From its place in the still corner it looks out upon me through the day with eyes of full hazel, wistfully; and at times the firelight flickering in the golden brown of her hair and o'er her close unassailable lips turns them to a vivid appearance of life. And yet it is not in this demure mood of gravity I know her best, which is in a manner strange to her custom, at most a rare and passing exhibition of her thoughtfulness. If you should see this exquisite portrait you would proclaim her of a tender seriousness, one that had caught some knowledge of the world's travail, nor learnt to smile at it, though the gift of joyous blood ran in her veins. You would misjudge her did you so imagine her. For she has no unwholesome gravity, is not oppressed by outer woes, suffers not vicariously beyond a woman's habit, is blithe and jocund, nods at her own poor troubles merrily, and meets fortune with a negligence of uncommon grace. There is none other whom her dainty gaieties so become. She has in truth sedater moments as in this picture; but I am assured that her eyes go no further than the eyes of her happy sisters, her lips whisper nothing more. This visage of shy solemnity is not most notable of her, and yet I love its mute expression even as I love her speaking face. Her winsome smile in life possesses all my idle hours; her sober gaze from out the mellow canvas moves me to draw a little nearer to her through my daily work. Her gaiety is sweet to me, yet somehow I prefer her picture to be grave and quiet. To have her laughing ever in my face were to wince at a certain callous apathy of the cold paint. I suffer the common tragedies of mortality day by day; my humours vary with the shifting hours; anon I am in pain or sorrow; and that she should be witness with her smile were distasteful to me, as it were to her own pitiful self. And so as I bend to my work she looks down upon me hour by hour, peaceful and softly earnest, till the peace and earnestness of her presence have entered also into the possession of my spirit.
This picture is now my dearest treasure, a function of my heart, as integral a part of myself as are my constant thoughts and fancies. The gross accidents of life step between me and her daily, but her picture nought may assoil; it abides with me always, a gracious guardian above the reach of chance or time. Though she herself should fade from my experience (which God in His grace forbid! ) I have her here still watching me with a most kind regard. Those lustrous eyes, fashioned of raw paint, informed with light and life, keep ward upon the world in which I move, so steadfastly that I could think they follow my diurnal course, and at my failures will grow wet with tears. And yet her own sweet eyes, I am persuaded, have never wept for me, whose servitude is but a vain reiterated tribute to her loveliness. To bow before her is the common lot; man's adoration and her beauty are two correlatives of fate; the one is born and moveth with the other. Many there be that live upon her smile; there is but one that hath taken her picture for his heart. That soft face speaking from the wall has grown to be my conscience; most often has it detached me from the society of rude thoughts and ruder companions. When I am most errant and most evil of mind I have but to look up and read her delicate glance to rid me of my inmost devil. At such times I shut my lips against my babble, and listen to her low voice through the boisterous talk, bethinking me how unworthy am I of so delicious a communion. She in her counterfeit shares with me my graver thoughts, though she herself has suffered me no entrance into her interior feelings. From her outward conduct to me, who am a mere atom in her pleasant circle, she would appear to be very human, full of light, heedless, dainty whims. I should consider, did I judge her so, that her mind runs little on sad phantasies. Her customs are so joyous and unrestrained, and she bears upon her face the marks of a great and smiling innocence. This behaviour doth belie her.