Neither Mary Holyoke nor her husband could disguise their emotions, as
they saw before them the living testimonial of Woodcock's gratitude and
trust. Mary stooped and kissed the gift-child, who clung to her as
if, contrary to her father's statement, she was an article of wearing
apparel.
* * * * *
=_John Esten Cooke,[71] 1830-._=
From "Estcourt, or the Memoirs of a Virginia Gentleman."
=_311._= THE PORTRAIT.
"I see you are prepared now," said the painter; "the thought I
endeavored to suggest has entered your mind, for I read the expression
in your face like an open book. Well, see if I have deceived you--look!"
And as he spoke, the painter removed a green curtain from the frame of a
picture, so arranged that the full light of the middle window fell upon
it.
Estcourt almost cried out with astonishment. Here, before him, as
though ready to start from the canvas, was the woman who had been, his
fate--who had died long years before; there in the full blaze of light,
he saw her who had thrown the shadow upon his existence, which still
clouded it, fresh, softly smiling, alive almost on the speaking and
eloquent canvas. The blue eyes beamed with a tender and subdued
sweetness, the delicate forehead, with its soft brown curls, rose airily
above the perfectly arched brows, the innocent lips were half parted,
and the portrait seemed almost ready to move from its frame, and
descend, a living woman, into the apartment.
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