The picture-gallery,and two or three of the principal bedrooms, were all that remained to be shown. In the former were many good paintings;but Elizabeth knew nothing of the art;and from such as had been already visible below,she had willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss Darcy's,in crayons,whose subjects were usually more interesting,and also more intelligible.
“That is not very likely;our authority was too good.”
In the gallery there were many family portraits,but they could have little to fix the attention of a stranger.Elizabeth walked in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her.At last it arrested her―and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy,with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her.She stood several minutes before the picture,in earnest contemplation,and returned to it again before they quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father's lifetime.
As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to look again;her uncle and aunt stopped also,and while the former was conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself suddenly came forward from the road, which led behind it to the stables.