g 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