Even the living faces, being blondes, paled before it, in the one particular of color. They seemed fair glittering moons, and this a glowing sun. Grace's first feelings were those of simple surprise and admiration. But, as she gazed, Henry's words returned to her, and all manner of ideas struck her pell-mell. “Oh, beautiful! beautiful!” she cried. Then, turning to Henry, “You are right; it was not a face to hide from the world--oh! the likeness! just look at HIM, and then at her! can I be mistaken?” This appeal was made to the company, and roused curiosity to a high pitch; every eye began to compare the dark-skinned beauty on the wall with the swarthy young man, who now stood there, and submitted in haughty silence to the comparison. The words caught Mr. Raby's attention. He made a start, and elbowing them all out of his way, strode up to the picture. “What do you say, Miss Carden? What likeness can there be between my sister and a smith?” and he turned and frowned haughtily on Henry Little. Henry returned his look of defiance directly. But that very exchange of defiance brought out another likeness, which Grace's quick eye seized directly. “Why, he is still liker you,” she cried. “Look, good people! Look at all three. Look at their great black eyes, and their brown hair. Look at their dark skins, and their haughty noses. Oh, you needn't blow your nostrils out at me, gentlemen; I am not a bit afraid of either of you.--And then look at this lovely creature. She is a Raby too, only softened down by her sweet womanliness. Look at them all three, if they are not one flesh and blood, I have no eyes.” “Oh yes, miss; and this lady is his mother. For I have SEEN her; and she is a sweet lady; and she told me I had a Cairnhope face, and kissed me for it.” Upon this from Jael, the general conviction rose into a hum that buzzed round the room. Mr. Raby was struck with amazement. At last he turned slowly upon Henry, and said, with stiff politeness, “Is your name Little, sir?” “Little is my name, and I'm proud of it.” “Your name may be Little, but your face is Raby. All the better for you, sir.” He then turned his back to the young man, and walked right in front of the picture, and looked at it steadily and sadly. It was a simple and natural action, yet somehow done in so imposing a way, that the bystanders held their breath, to see what would follow. He gazed long and steadily on the picture, and his features worked visibly. “Ay!” he said. “Nature makes no such faces nowadays. Poor unfortunate girl!” And his voice faltered a moment. He then began to utter, in a low grave voice, some things that took every body by surprise, by the manner as well as the matter; for, with his never once taking his eyes off the picture, and speaking in a voice softened by the sudden presence of that womanly beauty, the companion of his youth, it was just like a man speaking softly in a dream. “Thomas, this picture will remain as it is while I live.”