"I'm not so sure," said Maria Dolores. "I should rather fear I might be
drowned."

"Oh, but that wouldn't hurt," said Annunziata, with security. "To be
drowned in such beautiful green water, among all those beams of light,
would be nice."

"Perhaps you are not aware," said Maria Dolores, "that when people are
drowned they die?"

"Oh, yes, I know that," said Annunziata. "But"--she raised calm pellucid
eyes--"wouldn't you like to die?"

"Certainly not," said Maria Dolores, a shadow on her face.

"I would," said Annunziata, stoutly. "It must be lovely to die."

"Hush," Maria Dolores rebuked her, frowning. "You must not say such
things."

"Why not say them, if you think them?" asked Annunziata.

"You mustn't think them either," said Maria Dolores.

"Oh, I can't help thinking them," said Annunziata, with a movement. "It
surely must be lovely to die and go to Heaven. If I were perfectly sure
I should go to Heaven, I would shut my eyes and die now. But I should
probably have to wait some time in Purgatory. And, of course, I might go
to Hell."

Maria Dolores' face was full of trouble. "You must not talk like that,"
she said. "You must not. It is wicked of you."

"Then, if I am wicked, I _should_ go to Hell?" inquired Annunziata,
looking alertly up.

Maria Dolores looked about her, looked across the river, down the
valley, as one in distress scanning the prospect for aid. "Of course you
would not," she said. "My dear child, can't we find something else to
talk of?"

"Do you think I shall have a very long and hard Purgatory?" asked
Annunziata.

Maria Dolores threw a despairing glance at the horizon.

"No, no, dear," she answered uneasily. "You will have a very short and
gentle one. Anyhow, you'll not have to consider that for years to come.
Now shall we change the subject?"

"Well," said Annunziata, with an air of deliberation, "if you are
perfectly sure I shall not go to Hell, and that my Purgatory will not
be long and hard, I think I will do what I said. I will lie down in the
water and go to sleep, and the water will drown me, and I shall die."

Maria Dolores' face was terrified. "Annunziata!" she cried. "You don't
know what you are saying. You are cruel. You won't do anything of the
sort. You must give me your solemn word of honour that you won't do
anything of the sort. It would be a most dreadful sin. Come. Come with
me now, away from here, away from the sight of the river. You must never
come here a