On her face and hands, and on the small golden cross at her throat, fell the flickering firelight--that ruddy, mellow firelight in which one's grandmother would look poetical.
I drew a low stool from the corner and placed it by the side of her chair.

She reached out her hand to me, as was her pretty fashion, and so we sat for several moments silently in the changing glow of the burning logs.

At length I moved back the stool so that I could see her face in profile without being seen by her.

I lost her hand by this movement, but I couldn't have spoken with the listless touch of her fingers on mine.
After two or three attempts I said "Nelly" a good deal louder than I intended.
Perhaps the effort it cost me was evident in my voice.

She raised herself quickly in the chair and half turned towards me.
"Well, Tom ?" "I--I am very sorry you are going away." "So am I.I have enjoyed every hour of my visit." "Do you think you will ever come back here ?" "Perhaps," said Nelly, and her eyes wandered off into the fitful firelight.
"I suppose you will forget us all very quickly." "Indeed I shall not.