Now Mr. Smith had charged Madge to keep it a strict secret from Raymond that he was an artist. He wished to watch him quietly, for there was a little scheme of benevolence in the good man's head, which he wanted to carry out if possible. Many a time had Madge found herself on the point of telling Raymond about the sitting, and Mr. Smith's studio, and the lovely pictures about it; but she kept her counsel bravely, and had her reward. Raymond often questioned her as to how she had made acquaintance with Mr. Smith, but she always told him it was through Mr. Jeffery, and turned the conversation; and by degrees his curiosity abated, he became content to receive him as an old friend, and learned to look forward to his visits as one of his greatest treats.
But with this secret in her possession, it was hardly to be wondered at that Madge smiled when Raymond deplored Mr. Smith's probable want of sympathy in his favourite pursuit; but she only said, "He must have some taste for painting, or he would not have bought your picture."
"You little flatterer! he probably did that because he had a fancy for you."
At this moment Mrs. Smiley entered the room. She was the bearer of a letter which had just been left by the postman.
It bore a foreign post-mark, and the children knew that it was their father's hand-writing. It contained but a few lines, evidently written in haste.
"My Dear Children,—I have got an appointment abroad, which will detain me for a long time,—for how long I cannot say. I wish I could have you with me—but this is impossible. I send you £5. It is all I can do at present. Raymond must give up his dabbling, and set to work like a man. I hope you will get on well. I shall see you some day.
—Your affectionate father, Raymond Leicester."
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?"