e 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.

Little Mildred did not lie there very long. It was terrible to see her,
and Arthur could hardly bear to look; but he did look as the convulsions
made her struggle and gasp for breath.

At length he heard his father's voice in a low whisper say, "She's gone;
thank God." And then he saw him take a little helpless form from his
mother's arms and lay it back on the white bed, and Arthur saw that his
tiny sister was dead. She was lying still, her breath was gone for ever;
her eyes were closed, and her curls lay soft and golden on the pillow. She
would never open her blue eyes again, and her voice would never more call
"Artie, Artie."

He just saw that his mother sunk down on the floor by the bedside. He
could not see her face, but he heard a deep, deep groan, and then sh