“What is wrong with mother?!” Everard would shriek over and over again, tears streaming down his face, “What is wrong with her? What is wrong with her?” Isaac and Eleanor could never respond. They would simply wrap him in their arms while masking their own terror, praying to God that the crying would stop and the illness would go away. Eleanor could do nothing but stare at her mother while she died; she watched as Isaac swept his tears away while muttering a prayer for Sybil’s soul, running his fingers through her hair one last time.