THE SURPRISE.
EAPOINT 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 on long 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."
EAGER WATCHING.
Mr. Smith walked across the grass, and entered the school-room by a folding glass-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.
"Now, Miss Mortimer, you said you would tell papa about my lessons to-day."
The governess, a tall staid lady of about fifty, whose face betokened that her mind was full of grammars and dictionaries, smiled a little, and answered, "I have been informing your father of the marked improvement which you have lately made in your studies."
"Yes, Lily, I have heard all about it," said Mr. Smith, looking down fondly into the bright little face that was raised to his. "And I have been telling Miss Mortimer of a treat that I have in store for you."
"What is it, papa?" she cried eagerly.
"Oh, I am not going to tell you, until we get to your favourite seat among the rocks."
"Then don't let us lose another minute, papa," said Lilian, and they set off.
Away over the breezy hill-side which overhung the sea; away through the furze, the gorse, and the large brake-ferns; away until they had left the pretty villa far behind them, and found themselves in the small sheltered bay where Mr. Smith's boat, the White Lily, was moored.
"It is very calm, may we go out for a little way, papa?"
"Yes, dear," said the artist, as he unfastened the padlock which moored the boat. Then he placed Lilian in the stern, and sprung in himself, taking the oars, and pushing away from the strand.
The setting sun shed a flood of glory over the quiet bay, with its brilliantly coloured rocks, and its shore covered with white pebbles, and fell upon the little boat that danced over the rippling sea, lingering lovingly on the beautiful face of the artist's child as she bent forward to claim the promised secret.
"Now, papa, what is the treat?"
"Well, Lily, you know I have told you about Raymond and Madge."
"Yes, papa; and I was going to have asked how Raymond was, and whether he liked the fruit I sent him, only the thought of the treat put it all out of my head."
"He is much better, darling. And what would you say if you were soon to see him?"
"Oh, papa!"
A BEAUTIFUL SCENE.
"I have asked Madge and him to come here, that he may recover his strength; and I have come on to make all preparations. They will be here to-morrow."
"Oh, joy, joy!" cried Lilian. "Mayn't I have a whole holiday, papa?"
"Yes, to-morrow you shall; and after that Madge shall do her lessons with you."
"And Raymond too, papa?"
"No, darling. Raymond will do his lessons with me."
"Shall you teach him to paint beautiful pictures as you do, papa?"
"Yes, I hope so," replied the artist, smiling.
Lilian drew a long-sigh of contentment.
"I do wish it were to-morrow! Will you take them out in the boat, papa?"
"Raymond will not be well enough at first; but by-and-by, I hope, we shall have some grand excursions."
"And that dear little Madge that you have told me about; oh, papa, I shall love her so much! Do you think she will love me?"
The fond father thought within himself that it would not be very easy for her to help doing so; but he only answered, "I think she will, Lily."
And thus they talked in the pleasant evening light, until the red sun had dipped down behind the hills on the further coast; and then Mr. Smith moored the boat, and the father and daughter walked home in the red glow which the sun had left behind it.
The rest of the evening passed away very slowly to Lilian, she was looking forward so eagerly to the morrow; and it was not until she had planned and replanned every kind of pleasure that was likely to be given to her, during the visit of her friends, and wondered over and over again what they would be like that sleep came over her; and before she knew anything more, the much longed-for morning had arrived.
Mr. Smith had gone to meet the children at their landing-place; and about two o'clock Lilian heard the sound of the carriage-wheels coming near. Then a fit of shyness came over her; and she hung back, so that it was not until she heard her father's voice calling her that she went to the door, just in time to see him helping out of the carriage a tall, delicate-looking boy of about sixteen, followed by a quiet-looking little girl of twelve.
"Here are your new friends, Lily; come and speak to them," said Mr. Smith.
Then Lilian stepped forward, and shook hands with Raymond, and kissed Madge. Madge returned the kiss; but she seemed intent on watching Raymond, as if she had no other thought than to take care of him.
"I will take Raymond to his room, and he had better lie down for a while," said Mr. Smith.
The boy smiled faintly, but he was too tired to speak; so his friend and Madge helped him to the pretty room which had been prepared for him, overlooking the sea.
He lay on the bed with his eyes fixed on the water; but very soon, overcome with the fatigue of the journey, he fell asleep; and when, a little while after, Madge stole softly into the room, she found him slumbering peacefully. For an instant she bent over him, and the dark earnest eyes were filled with tears of thankfulness that he was spared to her, and was likely to recover health and strength in this beautiful home. Then little Madge drew the curtain across the window to exclude the light from his eyes, and left the room as quietly as she had entered it.
She found Lilian waiting for her at the foot of the stairs; and before long the two children had become quite confidential, and were rapidly making friends.
In the evening Raymond was allowed to come down-stairs, and to lie on the sofa in the pretty drawing-room.
Lilian came to his side with a handful of bright-coloured geraniums and white roses. "Papa says you like pretty things; and he told me I might bring you these."
Raymond took them with a bright smile. They were not as beautiful as the child who gave them, glowing as the colours were.
"Are you better?" said Lilian.
"Yes, much better, thank you; I shall soon be quite well."
"Do you like being here?"
"Very much; and so does Madge," he answered, laying his hand on hers as she knelt beside him.
"We are going to have great fun when you are well again; and I am to have shorter lessons; and Madge is going to do lessons with me; and you will do lessons with papa. He says so."
Raymond lay very still, sometimes looking out at the sea, sometimes at the "airy fairy Lilian," by his side, sometimes at the beautiful pictures around the room. "I wonder who painted that one!" he said, pointing to a likeness of a lovely lady and child.
RAYMOND AND LILIAN.
"It is mamma and me," said Lilian, a little sadly; and then pointing to one that hung near it, she said, "I like that picture better than any."
"It is done by the great artist, Herbert Smith," she answered, laughing.
Raymond looked at it with eager delight; and at this moment Lilian's father entered the room.
"Chatterbox, I hope you are not tiring Raymond;" and he looked kindly and inquiringly at the invalid.
"Not the least, sir; I was thinking that you are fortunate to possess so many of the paintings of Herbert Smith. How beautiful they are!" and the young artist's eye kindled with enthusiasm.
His new friend smiled.
"I am very fond of painting, Raymond."
"You must be, sir, from the way you have talked to me about it, and from your having such beautiful pictures. Do you paint yourself?"
"Why, Raymond," said Lilian, "don't you know—;" but a warning look from her father stopped her saying anything more. She only looked over at Madge, with her large blue eyes full of laughter.
Then her father bent down over the boy, and said, "I paint a great deal, Raymond."
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Raymond eagerly. "Then you will not think it wrong of me to want to be an artist."
"So far from thinking it wrong, Raymond, I am going to help you in it. I am going to get you taught."
A bright flush came over Raymond's face as he looked up for an explanation.
"Who will teach me, sir?"
"Mr. Herbert Smith."
Raymond started up. "Do you know him, sir? Do you know Mr. Smith, the greatest artist that is living? Is he a relation of yours?"
"Raymond, I am Herbert Smith," said his friend kindly.
A look of wondering doubt passed over the boy's face, which quickly changed to one of intense veneration, almost of reverence, at feeling himself in the presence of this master mind. Then, as the thought of all his friend's former kindness came over him, and of this great privilege before him, he covered his face with his hands; and the tears, which he vainly tried to conceal, fell through his thin fingers.
THE SURPRISE.
Madge bent down over him. "Raymond, dear Raymond, look up. Do not be sad now, it is all joy."
"I am so glad, I cannot help it, Madge," said Raymond. "All my brightest dreams coming true. I shall be an artist yet."
Mr. Smith turned away his head, his heart deeply moved by the boy's delight; but Lilian could not restrain her gladness.
"And did you not know that papa was the great Herbert Smith?" she asked. "What fun! Did you know, Madge?"
"Yes," said Madge, looking shyly into Raymond's face.
"O Madge, how could you let me go on talking to Mr. Smith about my poor little paintings without telling me."
"He told me not to tell you," she said.
"Yes," said Mr. Smith; "I wanted, Raymond, to watch you for a little while, before you knew who I was. I wanted to see if your whole heart was really devoted to painting, and that you were likely to rise in your profession, before I offered you assistance. I am satisfied; and now shake hands: if you are willing to endure a life of labour, I think I can promise you success."
"I am willing for anything," said Raymond. And to Madge he whispered, "You shall glory in me some day, little sister."
