ful dream, about my painting. Ask GOD that I may live."

"Perhaps your dream will come true, darling, for the picture is sold,"
she answered gladly. Then she feared that she had said what was unwise,
and that she had excited him. But she was satisfied when she saw the
quiet smile of satisfaction that stole over his features.

"Now rest, dear Raymond," she added, as she kissed him, "you will yet
live to be my glory."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

CHAPTER V.

THE INVITATION.

What a pleasant sight it was to see Madge's face, when Raymond was able
to sit up. It was still quiet and calm, but there was a deep gladness in
it that was beautiful; and the thoughtful care for her brother, the way
in which every wish or desire of his was forestalled, showed plainly
that her love had rather been increased than diminished by that long
nursing. She made allowance for all the fretfulness of convalescence,
which is so prevalent after severe illness--especially in men or boys,
who feel the depression of extreme weakness peculiarly trying--and was
always patient and bright. One day Raymond, after watching her for some
minutes gliding about the room and making things comfortable for him,
said to her, "Madge, which is the best life, yours or mine?"

"Mine at present; and yours is going to be," she answered, with her own
quiet smile.

"I've begun to doubt that. Do you know, I've nearly come to the
conclusion that I would change with you, and that your unselfish life is
more noble than all the fame and glory I could heap together."

Madge stopped in her work, and looking earnestly at her brother,
replied,--

"If that fame and glory is the _only_ object of your life, Raymond, it
is not what I thought and hoped it was going to be."

"What do you mean?" he asked, half laughing at her gravity.

"I can't put it as plainly as I want to do; but, Raymond, I mean that
your painting will not be only for your own glory, if you use it
rightly."

Raymond was silent, and his face became very thoughtful. "Madge," he
said presently, "I don't want that arrowroot. Come over here."

"Wait one moment, dear. I know my duty as nurse better than that. If I
leave this too long it will get quite thin, and then you will call it
'horrid stuff,' and not taste it."

Raymond laughed. "You are getting quite tyrannical, Madge. You take an
unfair advantage of my weakness."

"I must make the most of my brief authority," she answered merrily;