CHAPTER XII.
“Well, Ulpian, are you convinced that ‘Solitude’ is an unlucky place, and that misfortune dogs the steps of all who make it a home? Once you laughed at my ‘superstition.’ What think you now, my wiseacre?”
“My opinion has not changed, except that each time I see the place I admire it more and more; and, were it for sale, I should certainly purchase it.”
“Not with the expectation of living there?”
“Most assuredly.”
Miss Jane had suspended for a moment the swift clicking of her knitting-needles in order to hear her brother’s reply, and now she rejoined, almost sharply,—
“You will do no such silly thing while there is breath left in my body to protest, or to persuade. Pooh! you only talk to tease me; for five grains of observation and common sense will teach you that there is a curse hanging over that old piratical nest.”
“Dear Janet, when headstrong drivers persist in carrying a 150 pair of fiery, vicious horses into the midst of a procession of wild beasts that would have scared even your sober dull Dapples out of their lazy jog-trot, it is not at all surprising that snapped harness, broken carriage, torn flesh, and strained joints should attest the folly of the experiment. The accident occurred not far from my office, which is haunted by nothing worse than your harmless sailor-boy.”