There was a remarkable elegance and a delicacy in the features, but also a character of resolution and ability that quite took the portrait out of the category of mere fops or fine men. When people looked at it for the first time, I have so often heard the exclamation--'What a wonderfully handsome man!' and then, 'What a clever face!' An Italian greyhound stood by him, and some slender columns and a rich drapery in the background. But though the accessories were of the luxurious sort, and the beauty, as I have said, refined, there was a masculine force in that slender oval face, and a fire in the large, shadowy eyes, which were very peculiar, and quite redeemed it from the suspicion of effeminacy. 'Is not that Uncle Silas?' said I. 'Yes, dear,' answered Mrs. Rusk, looking, with her resolute little face, quietly on the portrait. 'He must be a very handsome man, Mrs. Rusk. Don't you think so?' I continued. 'He _was_, my dear--yes; but it is forty years since that was painted--the date is there in the corner, in the shadow that comes from his foot, and forty years, I can tell you, makes a change in most of us;' and Mrs. Rusk laughed, in cynical good-humour. There was a little pause, both still looking on the handsome man in top-boots, and I said-- 'And why, Mrs. Rusk, is papa always so sad about Uncle Silas?' 'What's that, child?' said my father's voice, very near. I looked round, with a start, and flushed and faltered, receding a step from him. 'No harm, dear. You have said nothing wrong,' he said gently, observing my alarm. 'You said I was always sad, I think, about Uncle Silas. Well, I don't know how you gather that; but if I were, I will now tell you, it would not be unnatural. Your uncle is a man of great talents, great faults, and great wrongs. His talents have not availed him; his faults are long ago repented of; and his wrongs I believe he feels less than I do, but they are deep. Did she say any more, madam?' he demanded abruptly of Mrs. Rusk. 'Nothing, sir,' with a stiff little courtesy, answered Mrs. Rusk, who stood in awe of him. 'And there is no need, child,' he continued, addressing himself to me, 'that you should think more of him at present. Clear your head of Uncle Silas. One day, perhaps, you will know him--yes, very well--and understand how villains have injured him. Then my father retired, and at the door he said-- 'Mrs. Rusk, a word, if you please,' beckoning to that lady, who trotted after him to the library. I think he then laid some injunction upon the housekeeper, which was transmitted by her to Mary Quince, for from that time forth I could never lead either to talk with me about Uncle Silas. They let me talk on, but were reserved and silent themselves, and seemed embarrassed, and Mrs. Rusk sometimes pettish and angry, when I pressed for information.