"What have they died, of?"
"Some of one thing, some of another. A large proportion of the whole have fallen in battle. My great-grandfather died early, leaving seven little sons. Three of them were taken in childhood; the other four lived to see thirty, but not one, of them saw thirty-three. I imagine that the premature death of so large a number of sons must have chiefly given rise to the superstition. Any way, there's no denying the fact that the St. Johns of Alnwick have not been long-lived."
"And the St. Johns of Castle Wafer?"
"It does not apply to them. Why, Isaac St. John is now all but fifty. It is owing to this mortality that Alnwick has been so often held by a minor. The Hall came to me when I was five years old."
"But George"--and she spoke hesitatingly and wistfully--"you don't think there's anything in it?"
"Of course I don't. Should I be telling you this gossip if I did?"
She thought not, either. She glanced at his fresh complexion, so bright and clear; at the rose-red on his cheeks, speaking, apparently, of health; and her mind grew easy, and she laughed with him.
"George! you are now thirty-three!"
"No. I shall be thirty-three next May, if I live until then."
"If you live till then," she echoed. "Does that imply a doubt of it in your own mind?"