hed words of tenderest affection, and her tears
fell fast at the thought that never again in this life should their
sweet music fall upon her ear.

But well she knew that the separation was only temporary; that they
should meet again in the better land, where sickness, sorrow, and death
can never enter, meet never more to part.

She was alone in her boudoir, and, wiping away her tears, she knelt
down in prayer, asking for strength to bear patiently and submissively
the loss that was at times so grievous, and craving God's blessing upon
the young relatives so soon to take upon them the marriage vows. Nor did
she forget her own daughter so recently united to the man of her choice,
or any other of her dear ones. Her heart swelled with joy and gratitude
as she thought of them all, healthy, happy, and in comfortable
circumstances; her dear old father and his lovely wife still spared to
her, and the dear grandchildren who seemed to renew to her the youthful
days of her own children, the fathers and mothers of these.

Her thoughts were still full of motherly and grandmotherly cares and
joys as she laid her head upon her pillow and passed into the land of
dreams.

When she awoke again it was to find the sun shining and the air full of
the breath of flowers and the morning songs of the little birds in the
tree tops just beyond her windows. She rose and knelt beside her bed,
while her heart sent up its song of gratitude and praise, its petitions
for grace and strength according to her day, asking the same for her
dear ones also, and that she and they might be kept from accident,
folly, and sin.

As she made her toilet her thoughts again referred to Maud and her
present needs, which could not well be supplied for lack of time.

"Can I not help the dear girl in some way?" she asked herself.

Then a sudden thought came to her and she hastened to a large closet,
unlocked a trunk standing there, and took from it a package carefully
wrapped in a large towel. Carrying it to a sofa in her boudoir she
unpinned it and brought to light a dress of richest white satin, having
an overskirt of point lace, and, beside it, a veil of the same costly
material.

"As beautiful as ever," she sighed softly to herself. "And the dress
would, I think, fit Maud, with little or no alteration. It would be
something of a trial to part with them permanently, but surely I can
spare them to Maud for a few hours. It would give her pleasure, for she
woul