"Not at all. I dare say I am in no more danger of dying than others--than Mr. Pym--than old Dr. Graves--than any man you like to think of. In one sense we are all in danger of it, danger continually; and, Charlotte, when any circumstance brings this fact to our minds--for we forget it too much--I think it should serve to make us very regardful of each other, more cautious to avoid inflicting pain on those we love."
His words and tone conveyed a pointed meaning. She raised her eyes inquiringly.
"Subdue those fits of temper for my sake, Charlotte," he whispered, letting his hand fall on hers. "You don't know how they pain me. I might recall to you their unseemliness, I might urge the sad example they give the children; but I would rather ask it by your love for me. A little effort of will; a little patient self-control, and you would subdue them."
"I will, George, I will," she answered, with earnest, willing acquiescence. And there was a look that told of resolution in her strange and dreamy eyes, as they seemed to gaze before her into a far-off vision of the future.
And all in a moment a thought rose up within her--a conviction, if you will--that this fancy, belief, superstition--call it what you please--of the premature deaths of the masters of Alnwick, must have been the secret and still unexplained cause of her mother's opposition to the match.
[CHAPTER VII.]
A SHADOW OF THE FUTURE
October came in, and was passing. George St. John sat at his desk, reading over a letter he had just penned, preparatory to folding it. It may facilitate matters if we read it also.
"My Dear Mr. St. John,
"'It behoves all sane men to make a will.' Do you recognize the sentence? It was from your own lips I heard it spoken, years ago, when I was a little chap in tunics, and somehow it has never left my memory. Then, you will say, why have you, George St. John, lived to your present age and never made one? And in truth I can only plead carelessness as the excuse. I am about to remedy the omission. Not that there would be much trouble with my affairs were I to die without leaving a will, as Benja takes nearly all I possess; and there's my wife's marriage-settlement--you know how poor it is--to claim the remainder. On that score, therefore, the obligation is not a very onerous one; and perhaps that fact may have induced the carelessness I admit. But there is another phase of the question that has latterly forced itself on my attention--the necessity for providing proper guardians for my children in the event of my death.