“Don't you think we shall know each other afterwards?” asked Arthur, with an expression of weary rather than sad surprise.
“I would be a little surer of it before I talked so coolly of leaving a sister like that! I only wish I had one to care for!”
A faint flush rose on the pale face of the girl, and as swiftly faded.
“Do you think, then, that this life is only a dream?” she said, looking up at Richard with something in her great eyes that he did not understand.
“Anyhow,” he answered, “I would bear a good deal rather than run the risk of going so fast asleep as to stop dreaming it. A man can die any time,” he continued, “but he can't dream when he pleases! I would wait! One can't tell when things may take a turn! There are many chances on the cards!”
“That's true,” replied Arthur; but plainly the very chances were a weariness to him.
“If Arthur had enough to eat, and time to read, and a little amusement, he would be as brave as you are, Mr. Tuke!” said Alice. “—But you can't mean to say there will be no more of anything for us after this world! To think I should never see Arty again, would make me die before my time! I should be so miserable I would hardly care to keep him as long as I might. We must die some day, and what odds whether it be a few days sooner, or a few days later, if we're never going to meet again?”
“The best way is not to think about it,” returned Richard. “Why should you? Look at the butterflies! They take what comes, and don't grumble at their sunshine because there's only one day of it.”
“But when there's no sunshine that day?” suggested Alice.
“Well, when they lie crumpled in the rain, they're none the worse that they didn't think about it beforehand! We must make the best of what we have!”