October 1885

Dear Friend,

I thought of you on your lonely journey, certain the hallowed Heroine was gratified, though mute -- I trust you return in safety and with closer clutch for that which remains, for Dying whets the grasp.

October is a mighty Month, for in it Little Gilbert died. "Open the Door" was his last Cry -- "the Boys are waiting for me!"

Quite used to his Commandment, his little Aunt obeyed, and still two years and many Days, and he does not return.

Where makes my Lark his Nest?

But Corinthians' bugle obliterates the Birds, so covering your loved Heart to keep it from another shot,

Tenderly,

Emily.