But Arthur was not crying now as he went slowly up the stairs, feeling as if it was all a dream, and not at all as if these were the same stairs that he generally mounted, or that this was the nursery door where he had generally bounded in with a laughing shout to the bright little sister who now lay very near the shore of the other land. She was a very little girl; not two years ago she had first come; and Arthur, who had been half-afraid of the tiny baby that lay in the nurse's arms so still and quiet, had by degrees learnt to love her with all his heart. He knew just the best ways to please her, and to make her voice ring out the merry crow he so liked to hear; and always, when she saw her brother coming up the avenue that led to the house, she would stretch out her tiny arms, and try to jump from her nurse's arms to meet him. It was only a few hours ago that Arthur had waved his hand to her, and made Hector jump and roll along the ground, that she might see him. She had looked so bright and rosy then, and now it was all so different! The room felt warm as he entered, and there seemed to be a great many people around the little white bed where Mildred lay. Arthur never, never forgot that scene; it lay on his heart like a strange, sad picture all his life. He could not see his little sister's face, only a stray golden curl was peeping from the white sheet, and lay on the pillow; he could hear her breathing, and it made his heart quiver to listen to the sounds. The nurse was standing a little aside; for there was nothing more for her to do. She had been placing hot flannels, and trying favourite remedies; but these were all of no avail. The doctor was standing at the post of the bed; for he knew that Mildred's little life was ebbing fast. And then Arthur looked at his father and mother. His mother was sitting by the pillow, and she almost lay upon the bed as she leant over her little dying child. His father was standing close by, and Arthur looked again at the expression that was on his face. He was in general a little afraid of his father; in fact, for the last two or three years he had not seen him at all, and it was only by the kind letters and messages from India, that he had known him of late, and he had thought him rather grave and stern, he was so different from his sweet, gentle mother; and though Arthur loved him at a distance, he had quite different feelings for her. But now, as he looked again, he saw that a softness was on his father's face, and that the hand that was laid on his wife's shoulder was trembling; and the thought that was in Arthur's mind just then was, "Father really looks as if he was going to cry." Presently his mother went a little closer to her baby, and Arthur just heard her whisper, "Let her die in my arms." His father looked as if he thought it would be better not. But she looked up again: "Give her, I must." So very gently she took the covering from the child, and drew her to her arms.