THE FEVER.
And Raymond did work. Madge watched him with hopeful pride, and seldom
stirred from his side. Their small store of money was nearly gone, and
there seemed but little likelihood of a fresh supply.
Raymond's hopes were bound up in the picture he was then engaged upon.
If only he could finish that, he felt sure that he could sell it. There
was a feverish light in his eyes, a burning flush upon his cheeks, while
he worked. He spoke seldom; but Madge saw him raise his hand sometimes
to his forehead as if in pain. The picture was nearly done, and Raymond
looked up for a minute one morning, and saw that the sun was shining
brightly down on the sea of roofs and chimney-pots which for the most
part constituted the view from their garret window, and then he said to
Madge, "Go out, and get a breath of fresh air; it is stifling work for
you to be always up here."
"Shan't you want me to mix your colours, Raymond?"
"No; go. I should rather you went."
She put on her bonnet, and then stood for one moment looking at his
work. "I wish you would come with me; it would do you good, and rest
you."
Raymond gave a wearying sigh. "No rest for me yet, Madge. I must toil on
until this is done. I can't rest when I go to bed. I am thinking all
night when will the morning come, that I may be at work again. No, no;
there is no rest until this is sold. Do you know that in a day or two we
shall be penniless and starving?"
Madge looked up at him with a smile. "No, Raymond, we shan't be left to
starve; don't fear."
Raymond looked doubtful, and went on with his work, and Madge went out.
She felt very lonely and sad as she wandered through the crowded, busy
streets, and gazed into the faces of the passers-by, all were so
completely wrapped up in their own concerns. None knew her history; none
would care to know it. What did it matter to any one of that moving
throng if she and Raymond died?
Almost unconsciously she bent her steps in the direction of the
colour-shop. One hurried glance she cast at the window, and then turned
away with a sickening heart.
Raymond's picture was still there.
She went home, and ascended the long flight of stairs with a slow,
hesitating step. For a moment she paused at the door of their own room;
she heard a groan within, and hastily went in. Her first glance was
directed to the easel in the window; but Raymond was not there. Another
look discovered him lying on the floor with his head pressed against the
ground.
"Raymond, Raymond!" she cried as she threw herself down by him. "Dear
Raymond, what is the matter?"
[Illustration: THE COLOUR-SHOP WINDOW.]
"O Madge, my head, my head! I could not bear it any longer."
He raised it for a moment, and Madge caught a sight of his fevered
cheeks and heavy tired eyes. She thought for an instant what was best to
be done, then ran down-stairs to call their landlady. Now, Mrs. Smiley
was in the midst of her cooking operations, and as she bent over her
large saucepan, she did not like being interrupted by the sudden
appearance of one of her top lodgers.
"What do you want? Don't you see I'm busy?" she said roughly, as she
turned a very red face round from the fire to Madge.
But Madge, in her terror for Raymond, gained courage. "If you please,
ma'am, do come and see Raymond; he is so ill, and I don't know what to
do."
"And who's to take this saucepan off, I should like to know, or baste
the meat? Do you think I'm to be at the beck and call of top-flight
lodgers, who only pay five shillings a-week, and that not regular. I can
tell you then that you're in the wrong box, young woman, so you'd best
be off."
[Illustration: AN UNGRACIOUS LANDLADY.]
Madge turned to go, but still stood irresolute, and Mrs. Smiley, looking
round to enforce her injunction, caught a sight of her wistful,
terrified face. The little girl went away as directed; but as soon as
she was gone, Mrs. Smiley opened the door of the back-kitchen, and
called out, "Here, you Polly, come up here, and keep an eye on this
dinner. Now keep basting the meat properly; for if it's burnt, I'll
baste you when I come back;" and then she followed Madge up-stairs. She
found her kneeling beside Raymond, supporting his head upon her
shoulder.
"Well, Mr. Raymond, so you don't find yourself very well!"
A groan was her only answer, and Madge looked imploringly at her.
"You'd best go to bed, sir, I'm thinking.--Miss Madge, my dear, you're
in for a bit of nursing. I'm afeard it's a fever that's on him."
Mrs. Smiley's character was changed. She had children of her own, and
there were soft spots in her heart still, though the outer coat, formed
by her worldly business, was hard and rough. She had known what sickness
was, and she was rather a skilful nurse, so from that time whatever
spare minutes she had were devoted to Raymond.
Poor little Madge! The days that followed were very sad ones. Her
brother grew worse and worse, and she sat by his bedside listening to
his wild ravings of delirium, in vain endeavouring to soothe him, or to
allay his burning thirst.
Their scanty supply of money was exhausted; and many little comforts
which Raymond needed, his sister was unable to procure for him. "I must
do something; this cannot go on," she thought; and then an idea flashed
into her mind, which she longed to carry out. She went over to the
easel, and took down Raymond's picture. It was very nearly finished. "I
will go and see if Mr. Jeffery will buy it," she said; and covering it
under her little cloak, she set out.
Very timidly she presented herself at the counter, and produced her
picture. Mr. Jeffery looked at it. "This is not finished," he remarked.
"No, sir; Raymond was too ill to finish it."
"I cannot take it in this state," said the picture-dealer. "It will
never sell."
[Illustration: NO HOPE.]
"Then you can do nothing for us?" asked Madge sadly.
"Nothing. Stay, though;" and he began turning over the leaves of his
memorandum-book. "Yes, you are the child. Well, Mr. Smith--Mr. Herbert
Smith--the great artist, wants to see you. Here, take this direction and
give it to him when you find his house;" and Mr. Jeffery hastily wrote a
few lines upon a piece of paper, and handed it to Madge.
Mr. Herbert Smith, the great artist. Yes! she had heard Raymond speak of
his pictures--she would go; there was a gleam of hope before her; she
would take Raymond's picture to him; he could not fail to discover how
clever it was--Raymond could only be appreciated by master minds, and
this was one of them. It was a dull wet day, and the streets looked dark
and dingy; the rain was driving in her face, and her heart was with
Raymond in the garret, where he was tossing in restless fever; but the
brave little maiden went on steadily, until she reached Mr. Herbert
Smith's door.
She rang at the bell, and asked to see the artist. The servant, well
accustomed to receiving every variety in the way of visitors to his
master, models, &c., &c., ushered her up a long stair into the studio.
Why, there sat the gentleman who had once looked so kindly at her in the
picture-shop; she had often wondered who he could be.
"A little girl to see you, sir," said the servant, and then withdrew.
Mr. Smith was reading his newspaper, seated in an easy-chair, arrayed in
dressing-gown and slippers, with a cigar in his mouth, and a cup of
fragrant coffee by his side.
He turned round impatiently, but when he saw Madge, his expression
changed to one of easy good-humour.
"Mr. Jeffery--please, sir, he told me to come to you," said little
Madge, while she looked down on the ground.
"Oh, yes, I remember; and so you have come to give me a sitting?"
"A what, sir?"
"A sitting, my child; to let me paint your eyes and hair."
"Please sir, I came to show you this; Raymond's ill;" and she held out
the cherished picture.
[Illustration: THE GREAT ARTIST.]
"Ah, yes; lay it down. I'll look at it presently; but, meanwhile, I must
lose no time in transferring you to canvas. Now, then, take your place,
so; your head a little more turned to the light." And in a few minutes,
with easy, rapid strokes, the artist was progressing in his work.
"And what is your name, my little girl?" he asked presently.
"Madge Leicester," she replied softly.
"Your eyes have grown sadder than they were when I last saw you, Madge!"
They were very sad then, for large tears were gathering in them, and
rolling down the thin white cheeks.
She raised her hand and dashed them away.
"What is it all about?" said Mr. Smith.
"O Raymond, Raymond!" she faltered.
"Is Raymond your brother?"
"Yes."
"Have you a father and mother?"
"My mother is dead, and my father is away, and Raymond is ill."
"Poor child, where do you live?"
Madge told him.
"And does no one care for you?"
"Oh yes, Raymond does."
"But I mean, does no one do anything for you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Smiley is minding him while I'm out!"
"How did you come to leave him to-day?"
A quick flush came to Madge's cheek; she was ashamed to confess their
poverty; but after a moment she added, "I wanted to sell Raymond's
picture."
"Does Raymond like painting?"
Madge's face lit up with a sudden brightness. "Yes, yes! he loves it--he
delights in it--he says it is his life."
"Poor boy, he does not know what up-hill work it is; he thinks it is
mere fancy play, I suppose?"
"I don't think he does, sir."
"Has he ever had teaching?"
"Only a few lessons from an artist who had the down-stair rooms in the
last house where we lodged."
Mr. Smith came over suddenly, and unfastened Madge's hair; it fell in
golden ripples all over her neck. The light was shining upon it, and the
sunbeams danced about it, making it in some places to resemble--
"In gloss and hue, the chestnut, when the shell
Divides threefold to show the fruit within;"
and in others there were luxuriant masses of rich deep brown, clustering
in curls about her shoulders. For a moment the artist stood lost in
admiration; then he silently resumed his work. It was an enjoyment to
him, as Madge could see from the pleasant smile that played around his
lips, and the kindly look in his eyes, when he glanced at her; but the
poor, little, anxious sister was only longing for the time to be over,
that she might return to Raymond's side; and when at last Mr. Smith laid
down his brushes and pallette, saying, "I will not keep you longer
to-day," she sprang to her feet joyfully.
"Will you come again soon, Madge?" he asked.
"Yes, sir, if I can!"
"Well, this is for your first sitting;" and he held her out
half-a-crown. For a moment she hesitated, then she thought of Raymond,
and the nourishment he so much needed, and she took it. "And about the
picture, sir?" she asked wistfully.
"Oh, yes, about the picture," said Mr. Smith, taking it up; but at this
moment he was interrupted; the servant announced a visitor, and he had
only time to add, "I will tell you about the picture the next time you
come, little Madge; good-bye;" and then she had to go away.
Back through the dreary streets, to that dreary home; back to that
garret room, to that lonely watching, to that brother who lay so near
the borders of the grave, though Madge knew it not. How often we pass in
the crowded thoroughfare some sad suffering hearts, hurrying back to
scenes such as these; it may be that they touch us in the crowd, and yet
we know nothing of the burden which they carry; God help them! Let us
thank him if we have light hearts ourselves; and let us remember that
each load that we lighten leaves one less sad face and heavy heart in
the world about us.
[Illustration]