Sometimes, when in repose, it reminded me of one of Raphael's angels.

At other times, when moved by mirth and with arch glances dancing in the deep, grey eyes,--and they could make merry when they willed,--it was a witching, teasing, provoking little face.

Or, again, if changed by grief,--under which aspect, thank God! I seldom saw it,-- a noble, resolute face, bearing that indescribable look of calm, set, high resolve, which the face of the heart-broken daughter of Lear, or the deep-suffering mother of the Gracchi might have borne.

You may say, perhaps, that this is rhapsody; but what is love without rhapsody ?-- what, a love story?
I determined at first, before I had studied it more attentively, that her face lacked expression; but I made a grievous error.

I quickly altered my opinion on seeing it in profile and upturned; for I marked the embodiment of devotion it betrayed during the service, when her voice was raised in the praise of her Maker.