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.  He thinks as you do of the likeness.  Ah, I hear his step!” and she hastened to open the door for him.

“I thought I should find you here,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks, then drawing her near the light and gazing with keen, loving scrutiny into the blushing face.

“Elsie daughter,” turning to her—­“Ah!” as he perceived her emotion and took note of the miniature in her hand, “is it not a speaking likeness?”

“Yes, papa,” she said in a trembling voice, going to him to lay her head on his breast while he clasped her in his arms, “but it has roused such an intense longing in my heart!

    “’Oh, for the touch of a vanished hand,
      And the sound of a voice that is still!”

“Dearest child!” he said tenderly, “the separation is only for time, and a long eternity of reunion will follow.  ’Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.’”

“‘But for a moment!’” she repeated.  “Yes, it will seem like that when it is past, though now the road looks so long and lonely.”

“Ah, dearest!” he said, softly smoothing her hair, “remember that nearer, dearer Friend whose promise is, ’I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.’”