"Frederic, will you be guided by me in this matter?"
"Let me hear your advice first, mother. Then I will decide."
"Try to make yourself more worthy of her. Make the most of your talent. Become something more than a portrait painter. Become a great artist; and when all men acknowledge your talent, Miss Dearborn will be proud to accept your devotion, and to reward it. Is my advice good?"
"Mother, you put new life into me," said the young man, his face glowing with new hope. "I have always wished to become a true artist. I am a portrait painter because poverty made it necessary."
"And you would become an artist if you could?"
"Yes; it is my strongest wish."
"Then form the plan of some great picture, select some worthy and inspiring subject, devote your leisure to it, and think that you are working for her you love."
"I will mother. You are not only my best friend, but my wisest counselor. Henceforth I shall feel that I have an object for which to labor."
Frederic Vernon returned to his studio with quickened steps, and resumed work with an ardor he had not felt since Grace Dearborn sat in his studio as the subject of his brush. It was some time before a suitable idea came to him, but at last it flashed upon him, and he gave to his picture all the time he could save from his sittings.
In the midst of his labors there appeared to him one day the postman.