"Or five hours, or five minutes, or perhaps five seconds—who knows?" said Mrs. Deborah, more to herself than her sister.
"Who knows, indeed? I may be dead before I leave these walls. I only hope Sister Chloe will take the pains to see that I have a decent funeral, that's all."
"Oh, don't be alarmed. You shall have the finest funeral money can buy!" said Mrs. Deborah impatiently.
Whereupon Mrs. Philippa began to cry.
"Sister Deborah!" said Mrs. Chloe with gentle reproach.
"Well there, child, I won't do so again. Come, do eat your breakfast, we shall never get away at this rate."
"What is a death-watch?" I ventured to ask.
"It is a little maggot or beetle, rather, which lives in the timbers of old houses and the like, and makes a clicking noise when it gnaws or scratches the wood. It is thought by some to be a sign of death; but I have had one in my room these twenty years, and he has not killed me yet."
"A dozen death-watches would never kill some people!" said Mrs. Philippa spitefully, through her tears.
"But how does the beetle know when one is going to die?" asked Amabel. "It cannot make any difference to him, and it does not seem very likely that God would tell such news to a little worm in the wall, and hide it from the person it most concerns."