As she stood in the door-way, speaking, he was struck by her resemblance to some old painting.

He had seen her young, calm face, shining out with great peacefulness, and the large, grave, thoughtful eyes, giving the character to the features which otherwise they might, from their very regularity, have wanted.

Her brown dress had the exact tint which a painter would have admired.

The slanting mellow sunlight fell upon her as she stood; and the vine-leaves, already frost-tinted, made a rich, warm border, as they hung over the old house-door.
"Mamma is not well; she is gone to lie down.

How are you?
How is Mr.
Buxton ?" "We are both pretty well; quite well, in fact, as far as regards health.
May I come in?
I want to talk to you, Maggie!" She opened the little parlor-door, and they went in; but for a time they were both silent.