He made no reply, but moved away to examine the machine.
“Of course it would have been death, Aurea, and I don’t want to go like that!”
“I should hope not, Susie.”
“I don’t think I shall be afraid when it comes—I shall feel like a child whose nurse has called it away to go to sleep; but I’d prefer to go quietly, and not like some crushed insect.”
Wynyard, as he worked at the car, could not help overhearing snatches of the conversation between aunt and niece; the latter said—
“The other day I was watching a flock of sheep in the meadows; the shepherd was with them, and they were all collected about him so trustfully. By his side was a man in a long blue linen coat. I said to myself, ‘There is death among them; poor innocents, they don’t know it.’ That’s like death and us—we never know who he has marked, or which of the flock is chosen.”
“He nearly chose us to-day—but he changed his mind.”
Aurea nodded, and then she went on—
“As to that odious motor, every one says Aunt Bella was shamefully taken in; but she would not listen to advice, she would buy it—she liked the photo. The car is medieval, and, what’s more, it’s unlucky,—it’s malignant! and you remember when we met the runaway horse and cart near Brodfield; I was sitting outside, and I declare it seemed to struggle to get into the middle of the road, and meet them! you remember what Goethe said about the demoniac power of inanimate things?”
“Now, my dear child, that’s nonsense!” expostulated Miss Susan. “I had a poor education, and I’ve never read a line of Goethe’s; if he wrote such rubbish, I had no loss!”