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Briggs, was so afflicted by the death of her grandson that the doctor administered some sedative drops and sent her to bed.
    My uncle, leaving his wife in the doctor’s care, set off to retrieve Hannah. He met her halfway, trudging toward him, head down, wrapped in a light cloak the doctor’s wife had insisted she wear, her bare feet brown from the dirt on the road. When he called to her, she raised her eyes, which were red from weeping, and seeing the distress and sympathy in his demeanor, she stretched out her arms, quickened her step, and collapsed in his embrace. “He is gone,” she said, and again, “he is gone.”
    “Yes,” my uncle said, relieved that she was so sensible. “I’ve come to take you home.”
    I was hanging clothes on the line in the side yard. As I lifted a wadded skirt, I spied my uncle and my sister approaching. He had his arm round her shoulders and she rested her head against his chest, her feet moving without her attention, like an automaton. I didn’t guess what had happened, but the vision the two presented, the barefoot girl in her cloak and nightdress guided with a steady and patient hand by the elderly captain, was deeply melancholic. I dropped the skirt into the basket and hustled through the yard to the path. I heard my uncle say, “Look, here’s your sister,” and Hannah’s head came up, but, though I hurried to her, she didn’t step away from my uncle; in fact, she turned her face to his shirtfront and closed her eyes.
    “What is it?” I asked my uncle.
    “Natie has passed away,” he said solemnly.
    At this Hannah let out a strangled sob, pressing her forehead toward my uncle’s armpit, as if she thought to hide there.
    “Oh, no!” I gasped. It was a shock and seemed at once so sad and so final that I could scarce take it in. “But he was well, I thought. Wasn’t he?”
    My sister released my uncle and turned to me with an expression so stricken it hurt me to see it. “Darling,” I said, as I folded her into my arms. “I’m so sorry, so sorry.”
    Uncle stood silent as Hannah allowed herself to be comforted. Over her bowed head we cast each other looks of comprehension and relief. “I must go back to your aunt,” he explained. “She is heartbroken.”
    “Yes,” I said. “You should go back.” I turned to the house and Hannah loosened her grip, though she kept one arm around my waist.
    “Ask your father to come to us when he can,” my uncle called from the path.
    “I will,” I promised. Hannah balked when I turned her toward the house. “Dearest,” I said. “Come home now.” Her frantic eyes searched my face, then she nodded and yielded to my guidance.
    Dinah met us at the door. Behind her, the chorus of Father’s Latin students filled the air.
Hiemem sensit Neptunus et imis
, they proclaimed. “Lord,” Dinah whispered. “What has happened?”
    “Natie has passed away,” I said.
    “Oh, the poor babe,” she cried, then covered her mouth with her palm, as Father forbids raised voices when his study is doubling as a classroom.
Graviter commotus
, droned the scholars.
    Hannah was silent as I steered her toward the staircase, Dinah fretting along at my side. “As soon as Father has dismissed his students,” I instructed her, “tell him to go at once to my uncle’s house.”
    “Oh, I will,” she promised. “I surely will.”
    We were halfway up the stairs when the door of Father’s study was thrown open and we heard the shrieking of his half-savage students racing for the kitchen, where a tray of ginger biscuits was set out for them. I turned to watch over the rail. Strangely, Hannah didn’t appear to notice the uproar. When we entered her room, she released me and took a step toward her bed. Then she turned to me, raising her hands to press either side of her skull. “What have they done to him?” she asked.
    “He is there,” I said. “In his grandmother’s house.”
    “Is he sleeping?”
    I wasn’t sure how to answer. She appeared