It was not until I saw my step-mother that I fully realised what the real threshold of the place where I was standing really meant; for in that house, with its comforts, its proprieties, its almost luxuries-- that house so well furnished, with such good servants, with every comfort that life could give--there was, we knew, a visitor hourly and momentarily expected: that grim and solemn visitor who goes by the name of Death. Kindly Death he is to some, terrible to others; a gentle and beloved friend to those who are worn-out with misery--a rest for the weary. But there are times when Death is not longed for, and this was one of those times. We children felt as we sat huddled together in the parlour, now such a comfortable room, that we had never wanted the Professor as we did then. He was a man in the prime of life, and great were his attainments. "It is wonderful what he is thought of," Alex kept repeating, and he kept on telling me and telling me all about father and what people said of him. But, indeed, I was learning that myself for the first time that day, for the carriages that drew softly up over the straw in the street to look at the bulletin on the door might have told me what the great world thought of him; and the boys who came up each moment to glance at the solemn message might have told me what his scholars thought of him; and many poor people whom he had helped were seen crossing the street to glance at the writing. I stood fascinated behind the window-curtain, where I could see without being seen, and it seemed to me that all these people were repeating in a marvellous fashion the true meaning of my father's life. To me he had hardly ever been a true father in any sense; but these people had regarded him as a great light, as a teacher, as one whom they must ever respect. "He will be a loss to the world," said Alex--"a great, great loss to the world!" "There will be his life in all the papers," said Charley; and then the two poor boys put their arms round each other and burst into sobs. I sobbed with them, and wished for old Hannah. And hardly had the wish come to me before she entered the room very quietly and stood beside us; and when she saw us all crying she said, "Oh, you poor dears--you poor dears!" and she sobbed and cried herself. Really it was quite dreadful. I hardly knew how to bear my pain. But when Mrs Grant came down just in the dusk of the evening, and entered the room very quietly and sat down near us, I went up to her. "May I see father?" I asked. She looked at me, and then said: "Dumps, if he gets worse, if the doctor on his next visit says there is no hope, then you shall see him. The doctor is coming here at eight o'clock with Dr Robinson, the very greatest authority in London. If he gives no hope you must all see him to say good-bye; but not otherwise, for any excitement is bad for him now." "I don't think I should excite father," I said.