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Show Page 160 daughter's still face. At last Anne, her own sobs now deep in her chest, joined them and they stood together, Cisly with one arm about his wife, one arm holding Sarah. I sent a pale-faced Twig to tell Margaret and Walter, then pulled Francis onto my lap. The boy's eyes were wide and fearful and he buried his face in my bodice. I held him as I wept. An icy rain was falling as we buried Sarah near Anne and Cisly's home, the gabled lid of the tiny coffin the last thing poking through the dirt that spattered down upon it. Then the rain turned to snow and soon the raw, wounded earth was covered with soft white. I remembered the golden flower that had unfolded within me the first time I held Sarah in my arms. It had now closed its petals, folding my stony heart within a brittle shell. Twig crept about like a grey shadow after Sarah's homebringen. He had been very fond of the infant. I often found him standing quietly, staring at nothing, his eyes large and brooding. When I spoke, he would start, sucking in his breath, his mouth a-twitch. Then he would trudge off, mumbling quietly to himself. A .few days later Francis grew listless. At first Margaret thought he might be pining for his sister, but then |