And with her, after all, must the decision of this matter remain." Both mother and lover waited with anxiety for that decision, and while waiting the captain wrote his letter, the mother busied herself with her accustomed cares and duties as daughter, mother, mistress, and hostess, each heart lifting up silent petitions that the result might be for God's glory and the best interests of all concerned.
Elsie was not surprised that Violet did not join the family that evening on her return from the Laurels.
"She doubtless wants a talk with her mother first," was her silent comment on learning that Vi had gone directly to that part of the house in which the private apartments of the family were situated, and presently, as all separated for the night, she sought her own dressing-room, expecting to find Violet waiting for her there.
But the room was unoccupied; one swift glance revealed that fact, and also showed her the box Violet had left on her toilet-table, and beside it some little token of love and remembrance from each of the other members of the family.
A label on each told who was the giver, and breathed of tender affection to her for whom it was prepared.
She looked them over with glistening eyes, a heart full of gratitude for the loves still left her, though sore with the thought, recalled by every anniversary, of him who was gone, and a sweet and beautiful smile playing about her lips.
Violet's gift was the last to be taken up and examined.

So life-like was the pictured face suddenly exposed to Elsie's view that it startled her almost as if he had come in and stood by her side.

The label told her it was from Violet, but even without that she would have recognized it as her work; and that it was so made it all the more precious to the widowed mother.
She was gazing intently upon it, her lips quivering, the big tears dropping fast down her cheeks, as Violet, with Capt.

Raymond's letter in her hand, opened the door, came softly in, and glided noiselessly to her side.
"Dearest mamma," she murmured, stealing an arm about her mother's waist, "does it please you ?" "Nothing could be more like him! My darling, thank you a thousand times!" "I painted almost entirely from memory, mamma, and it was emphatically a labor of love--love to you and to him.

Oh, how sadly sweet it was to see the dear face growing day by day under my hand!" "Has your grandpa seen it ?" "Yes, mamma, he used to come in sometimes and watch me at my work.