"I have a little daughter at home, Madge, who is about your age; and if she were in trouble—;" suddenly his voice faltered, and he added hurriedly, "may God grant that my Lilian may never be left as you are."
Madge lifted her eyes to his face, then clasping his hand, she said, "Oh, sir, save Raymond; I will love you always, if you will save him. Oh, do not let him die!"
"Keep up your brave little heart; I will do my best. Madge, if your brother lives, he will some day be a great artist."
Again that glad, joyful light came into Madge's eyes, which the artist had seen there once before. "I know it! I know it!" she cried. "Did you like the picture, sir?"
"Yes, my child. I saw unmistakable signs of genius in it. I am buying it myself, little Madge; will you receive the purchase-money?"
"No, no; wait till Raymond can have it himself. He must live!—he will, he will!"
"Hush, my child; there is One above who only knows about that; he must do as seemeth to him best. Now, Madge, go back to him; I will go and get a friend of mine to come and see him."
Madge did as he bid her; and in about an hour Mr. Smith returned with a doctor.
He looked very grave when he had examined his patient, and then beckoned Mr. Smith away.
"I have very little hope of him," he said sorrowfully; "the prostration of strength is fearful; I fear he will never rally; but he must have stimulants now, and plenty of nourishment;—we must do what we can."