“Yes, so they could; but even then we should have seen and heard them, and—no, they can’t have come back. Papa can’t be at home; and yet I heard him call me as plainly as ever I did in my life. Oh!—” and she dropped into a chair with a look of dread and alarm that half frightened her brother.
“Max,” she went on in low, half-tremulous tones, “I—I—do believe it means that I’m going to die.”
“Why, Lu!” he exclaimed, “I should never have thought you could be so silly! What on earth can have put that notion into your head?”
“I’ve heard stories of people hearing themselves called in that mysterious way and dying very soon afterward,” she answered, looking rather ashamed.
“Well, that’s all nonsense,” he returned with an air of superior wisdom. “I’m perfectly sure papa would tell you so.”
“Maybe you wouldn’t care if you thought it did mean that?” she said, half-interrogatively.
“Oh, of course not; you don’t suppose I care anything about you, do you?”
“Yes; I know you do. And if you didn’t, you know papa loves me, and would be grieved to lose me, and you love him well enough to be sorry on his account.”
“Well, maybe so; though I hadn’t thought it out. But you’re very healthy, and I’ve a notion are going to outlive all the rest of us.”
“Dear me, how awful that would be!” she cried; “to be left all alone, after seeing you all dead and buried. I believe I’d rather go first.”