days, when a feast was so apt to end in a fray,—­when by perfidy the enemy so often entered at the castle gate while the company were at table, and frequently a chief was slain ere he could rise from his place,—­the circumstance would point an analogy which it has not with us, suggesting not merely mortality but betrayal; a breach of all the laws of hospitality; impending death by violence.  Since we can not live forever, among every assemblage of individuals there is likely to be one at least whose life may be nearly at its close.  The more persons present, the greater the probability; therefore there is really a greater fatality in the numbers fourteen, twenty, thirty, than in thirteen.

“But to return to the point from which we started—­no, Emily, it is not necessary to sit down.  You will observe that many persons who declare emphatically that they are not superstitious, are nevertheless influenced by old-time sayings and practices; some of which, though perhaps beautiful originally, have now lost all significance; others which are simply relics of paganism.  Men are often as irrational in this respect as women; and, notice this well, you will find superstition much more common among non-Catholics than among Catholics.  As we have seen, however, some of us do not realize that what we are pleased to call certain harmless eccentricities, are very like the superstitious practices forbidden by the First Commandment.”

Kate and Emily were not giving to this little homily the attention it deserved.  They had begun to trifle as girls are wont to do.  Catching at the tiny bisque cupid that hung from the chandelier, Emily sportively sent it flying toward Kate, who swung it back again.  Thus they kept it flitting to and fro, faster and faster.  Finally, Emily hit it with a jerk.  The cord by which it was suspended snapped; the dainty bit of bric-a-brac sped across the room, and, striking with full force against a mirror in a quaint old secretary that had belonged to Mr. Mahon’s uncle, shivered the glass to pieces.  Instantly every trace of color fled from her face, and she stood appalled, gazing at the mischief she had done.  There was, of course, an exclamation from her companions, who remained staring at her, and appeared almost as disturbed as herself.

Cousin Irene went over and patted her on the shoulder, saying, “Do not be so distressed, child.  I know you are sorry to have damaged the old secretary, which we value so much for its associations.  But there is no need of being so troubled.  We can have a new mirror put in.”

“It is not only that,” faltered the silly girl; “but to break a looking-glass!  You know it is a sure sign that a great misfortune will befall us—­that there will probably be a death in the family before long.”

“Oh, but such sayings don’t always come true!  There are often exceptions,” interposed Kate, anxious to say something consolatory, and heartily wishing they had let the little cupid alone.