was well pleased with this, being more accustomed to reading the language of the soul in the lineaments of the face than in the utterances of the lips.
He conceived the happy thought of painting her portrait in the act of taking the pond lilies, "What can be more beautiful," said he to himself.
He returned to his rooms, and, immediately after breakfast set about the pleasant task, putting aside his other sketches, and worked at it incessantly for three days, making the most rapid progress. He wished her to know nothing of it until its completion when he intended to surprise her with it as a present.
There is a delicious sense of rapture in being the sole repository of one's own secret. Even if another is to share it before it can become a reality, there may be a kind of cruel pleasure in feeling that that one is yet in innocent ignorance of the fact. Ernest had reached that point when anticipation included the reality just enough to lend enchantment to every object of the physical sense as well as the diviner feelings. Nature spoke to him more kindly than before, and the subtle influence of a kindred soul, though unacknowledged, softened into beauty every rugged outline of her coloring.
The next day be was invited to join a party of young people in an evening stroll, where he fell in company with Grace Blanche. The close affinity of tastes between them always brought them together when both were present, which produced sufficient occasion among all who were given to gossip and some who were not, to link their fates together. It
