you, and do my sums."

CHAPTER III.

THE FEVER.

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?"

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."

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."

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