Caroline was dead.
I felt the blow more severely than the servants or anyone else about me supposed.

Still I was a child in years, and I had the blessed elasticity of a child's nature.

If I had been older I might have been too much absorbed in grief to observe my aunt so closely as I did, when she was composed enough to see me later in the day.
I was not surprised by the swollen state of her eyes, the paleness of her cheeks, or the fresh burst of tears that came from her when she took me in her arms at meeting.

But I was both amazed and perplexed by the look of terror that I detected in her face.

It was natural enough that she should grieve and weep over my sister's death, but why should she have that frightened look as if some other catastrophe had happened?
I asked if there was any more dreadful news from home besides the news of Caroline's death.
My aunt, said No in a strange, stifled voice, and suddenly turned her face from me.