The Boy Artist Part 6

And this was all! They had looked forward to his coming home. They had watched for him day by day. In Raymond's heart there was a strange yearning to see the face of his only living parent; to know if he would be glad that he had been restored, when he was so near death; and these few hurried words were all! They read them through several times. Then Madge clasped her hands, and hid her face with a low cry.

"Don't, Madge, don't," said Raymond, though his own voice was trembling with emotion. "I cannot bear to see you like that."

"O Raymond, will he never come back?"

"Yes; don't you see he says that he will, some day. Meanwhile, we will do our best."

"_You_ will never leave me, Raymond?"

"Never, if I can help it," he said, laying his long thin fingers on her hair.

"Poor father! Raymond, I did want to see him so much."

"So did I."

They did not speak much more. For some time they only sat holding each other's hands, and thinking mournfully of the future. Everything seemed very dark and gloomy that evening, both within and without. A heavy rain was falling, and the sight of wet roofs and chimney-pots gleaming in the twilight is never very enlivening. Raymond at last gave a long, deep sigh, at the sound of which Madge started up.

"That won't do, Raymond. I'm forgetting my duty as nurse, and it is very bad for a patient to get vapourish! Oh, here's Mr. Smith!"

He came in, in his own pleasant, friendly way, but his quick eye soon discovered that something was wrong, for Madge's quiet little face was troubled, and Raymond looked tired and moody.

Mr. Smith sat down, and began in a lively tone,--"Well, Raymond, my boy, how have things gone to-day? are you any stronger?"

"Not much, sir," he answered mournfully.

"And I don't expect you will be, while you are up here. You want change of air to set you up."

"I must get well as soon as possible," he said, with a very determined look.

"You must not be in too great a hurry. People want a great deal of patching up after an illness like yours."

"I must be at work!" said Raymond.

"Yes, when you are well. What is the cause of this extreme impatience?

You were quite content yesterday to lie back in your chair and let Madge nurse you and pet you to her heart's content."

Raymond answered by holding out his father's letter. Mr. Smith read it silently. He made no remark when he had finished it, but handed it back to the boy.

"And now, sir, what are we to do?"

"Get well and strong, my dear boy, in the first place."

"But about the shop, sir? My father said the place was ready, and I could take it."

"You are not fit for it at present."

"At present!" Then Mr. Smith thought he ought to go when he was well!

The thought was very bitter, and Raymond bent his head in his hands, and tears came dropping one by one through his fingers. They came from his extreme weakness, and he was very much ashamed of them, so much ashamed that he did not look up until he had banished them. Then Mr. Smith spoke:--

"Little Madge, do you think Raymond is well enough to have a change?"

"There is no place for him to go to, sir," she answered, while there was a quick throb of pain in her heart at the thought of being separated from him.

"I have a country-house in the Isle of Wight. Will you both come and pay me a visit there, and see my little daughter Lilian?"

Madge's face lit up instantly. "Raymond, do you hear? The country--the country--and the beautiful sea--and you will get strong there!"

"But I don't know how we could do it, sir?" said Raymond doubtfully, but in a tone of gladness which showed how much he liked the proposition.

"You must let me be your father for the time, and I will see to it all,"

replied Mr. Smith kindly. "Mrs. Nurse, don't you think it would be the best thing possible for your patient?"

"Oh, yes," she answered gladly.

"Then you must be ready by the end of next week," said Mr. Smith; "and consider that it is a settled thing. Lilian will be in such delight."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VI.

THE SURPRISE.

Seapoint was beautifully situated on a headland, which commanded a view of the boundless sea on one side, and on the other a panoramic view of the fertile Isle of Wight. And this was the summer home of the artist's little daughter. Her governess, Miss Mortimer, had charge of her, but her father came backwards and forwards to see her constantly; for Lilian was all that was now left to him in this world to love except his art, and the days when he came were the brightest of his little girl's life.

She knew that he would take her long on rambling walks, and let her clamber about amongst the rocks and little bays and creeks in which she delighted; and that, when she was tired, there was always a comfortable resting-place ready for her in that father's arms; and loving, tender words, which she never heard from any one but him. In his little daughter the artist found his ideal of childish beauty realized. The exquisitely shaped oval face; the large eyes of dark blue, through which the loving little heart looked out at him, and in which, though generally sparkling with fun and merriment, there was sometimes a dreamy intentness, as if they beheld a world more beautiful than any which his art or imagination created; the perfectly formed nose and mouth; the arched forehead, shaded with golden brown hair; the delicate complexion; and the witching charm of the graceful little figure, were a perpetual feast to the artist-father. Miss Mortimer complained bitterly that nothing would make Lilian behave with the due propriety of a young lady; but to her father there was a winsomeness in her free, gay manner, that made up for her wild spirits, which sometimes carried her past the bounds which the worthy governess laid down for her.

It was one of those glorious evenings in early summer, when all nature is bathed in that soft golden light which precedes sunset, and little Lilian was watching for her father's arrival; for it was Friday, and he generally came on that day to stay till Monday.

The eager child had not long to wait; she heard the well-known footstep on the gravel, and she bounded out of the door.

"Well, my Lilian."

"Well, papa." And the soft arms were thrown about his neck as the father stooped to kiss his little daughter.

"All right here, Fairy?"

"Yes, all right. And Miss Mortimer has got so many good things about me to tell you; and isn't it fine? Won't you take me for a beautiful long walk, papa?"

"Yes, darling. Shall we go now? I will just speak to Miss Mortimer, and then we will set off; and I will ask them to defer tea until we return."

"Beautiful!" said Lilian. "I will go and get my hat. Miss Mortimer is in the school-room, papa."

[Ill.u.s.tration: EAGER WATCHING.]

Mr. Smith walked across the gra.s.s, and entered the school-room by a folding gla.s.s-door that opened upon the lawn. Lilian returned presently; her shady straw hat fastened with blue ribbons, a little basket on her arm, and her face glowing with pleasure and excitement.