But no one at home had missed him. The Henley Street house was full of
hurry and confusion when he arrived. No one noticed him. The neighbors
came in and out, Mistress Sadler and Mistress Snelling, and the foreign
doctor who would like to wed Ann, or passed on up to a room above, where
little sister Annie, named for Ann Hathaway, lay dying of a sudden
croup. And all since morning, since Will stole away.
He knows this thing called Life, this deep inbreathing, this joy of
shout, of run, of leap, of vault. He knows--strong healthy young
animal--he knows this thing. But the other--this strange thing called
Death: the darkened room; Father with his head fallen on his breast
standing at the lattice gazing out at nothing; Mother kneeling, one arm
outstretched across the bed, her head fallen thereon, and Mistress
Sadler trying to raise and lead her away; and this--this waxen whiteness
framed in flaxen baby rings on the pillow--this little stiffening hand
outside the linen cover?
Will Shakespeare cries out. He has touched little sister Annie's hand
and it is cold.
[Illustration: "This strange thing called Death...."]