“That is the passing-bell, baroness,” announced the schoolmaster. “Some one must be lying at his last gasp. The doctor tells us that in town the passing-bell absolutely never stops ringing.”
We all looked round at each other, pale and speechless. So here it was again—Death—and each one of us saw his bony hand stretched out in the direction of some dear one’s head.
“Let us flee!” suggested Aunt Mary.
“Flee? whither?” answered the schoolmaster. “The pest has by this time spread everywhere round.”
“Oh, far, far away, over the frontier——”
“But a cordon will be drawn there, over which no one will be allowed to pass.”
“Oh, that would be horrible! Surely no one would hinder people from quitting a land stricken with pestilence?”
“Assuredly, the healthy neighbourhoods will protect themselves against infection.”
“What is to be done? what is to be done?” And Aunt Mary wrung her hands.
“To await God’s will,” answered my father. “You are besides such a believer in destiny, Mary, I cannot understand your desire for flight. Every one’s fate finds him, wherever he is. But, at the same time, I should like it better if you, children, could depart; and you, Otto, see that you touch no more fruit.”