“What with papa’s taking up two rooms to himself now he has the gout, and all of us being at home, mamma was a little at fault what chamber to give Mr. Temple. There was no time for much arrangement, for he came without notice; so she just turned Harry out of his room, which used to be poor John’s, you know, and put Mr. Temple there. That night Harry chanced to go up to bed later than the rest of us. He forgot his room had been changed, and went straight into his own. Mr. Temple was kneeling down in prayer, and a Bible lay open on the table. Mamma says it is not all young men who say their prayers and read their Bible nowadays.”
“Not by a good many, Anna. Yes, Temple is good, and I hope Helen will get him. She will have position, too, as his wife, and a large income.”
“He comes into his estate this year, he told us; in September. He will be five-and-twenty then. But, Johnny, I don’t like one thing: William says there was a report at Oxford that the Temples never live to be even middle-aged men.”
“Some of them have died young, I believe. But, Anna, that’s no reason why they all should.”
“And—there’s a superstition attaching to the family, is there not?” continued Anna. “A ghost that appears; or something of that sort?”
I hardly knew what to answer. How vividly the words brought back poor Fred Temple’s communication to me on the subject, and his subsequent death.
“You don’t speak,” said she. “Won’t you tell me what it is?”
“It is this, Anna: but I dare say it’s all nonsense—all fancy. When one of the Temples is going to die, the spirit of the head of the family who last died is said to appear and beckon to him; a warning that his own death is near. Down in their neighbourhood people call it the Temple superstition.”
“I don’t quite understand,” cried Anna, looking earnestly at me. “Who is it that is said to appear?”