The word pained me.

On my sad, lonely life--brief indeed, though ill health seemed to have doubled and trebled my sixteen years into a mournful maturity--this lad's face had come like a flash of sunshine; a reflection of the merry boyhood, the youth and strength that never were, never could be, mine.

To let it go from me was like going back into the dark.
"Not good-bye just yet!" said I, trying painfully to disengage myself from my little carriage and mount the steps.

John Halifax came to my aid.
"Suppose you let me carry you.

I could--and--and it would be great fun, you know." He tried to turn it into a jest, so as not to hurt me; but the tremble in his voice was as tender as any woman's--tenderer than any woman's _I_ ever was used to hear.