Mercy was relighting the lamps.
"Oh, Mrs.Philbrick!" he exclaimed, "won't you please not light the lamps.
This firelight on these evergreens is the loveliest thing I ever saw." Too unconventional to think of any reasons why she should not sit with Stephen White alone by firelight in her own house, Mercy blew out the lamp she had lighted, and drawing a chair close up to the hearth sat down, and clasping her hands in her lap looked eagerly into Stephen's face, and said as simply as a child,-- "I like firelight, too, a great deal better than any other light.

Some evenings we do not light the lamps at all.

Mother can knit just as well without much light, and I can think better." Mercy was sitting in a chair so low that, to look at Stephen, she had to lift her face.

It was the position in which her face was sweetest.

Some lines, which were a shade too strong and positive when her face fully confronted you, disappeared entirely when it was thrown back and her eyes were lifted.