pringing up at dusk had, once more, sent gusts of snow
scudding over the fells, Nelly's listening ear heard the well-known step
at the gate. She sprang up with a start of joy. She had been so lonely,
so imprisoned with her own sad thoughts. The coming of this kind, strong
man, so faithful to his small friend through all the stress of his busy
and important life, made a sudden impression upon her, which brought the
tears to her eyes. She thought of Carton, of its splendid buildings, and
the great hospital which now absorbed them; she seemed to see Farrell as
the king of it all, the fame of his doings spreading every month over
the north, and wiping out all that earlier conception of him as a
dilettante and an idler of which she had heard from Hester. And yet,
escaping from all that activity, that power, that constant interest and
excitement, here he was, making use of his first spare hour to come
through the snow and the dark, just to spend an hour with Nelly Sarratt,
just to cheer her lonely little life.

Nelly ran to the window and opened it.

'Is that really you?' she called, joyously, while the snow drifted
against her face.

Farrell, carrying a lantern, was nearing the porch. The light upon his
face as he turned shewed her his look of delight.

'I'm later than I meant, but the roads are awful. May I walk in?'

She ran down to meet him; then hung back rather shyly in the passage,
while he took off his overcoat and shook the snow from his beard.

'Have you any visitors?' he asked, still dusting away the snow.

'Only Bridget. I asked Hester, but she couldn't come.'

He came towards her along the narrow passage, to the spot where she
stood tremulous on the lowest step of the stairs. A lamp burning on a
table revealed her slight figure in black, the warm white of her throat
and face, the grace of the bending head, and the brown hair wreathed
about it. He saw her as an exquisite vision in a dim light and shade.
But it was not that which broke down his self-control so much as the
pathetic look in her dark eyes, the look of one who is glad, and yet
shrinks from her own gladness--tragically conscious of her own weakness,
and yet happy in it. It touched his heart so profoundly that whether
the effect was pain or pleasure he could not have told. But as he
reached the step, moved by an irresistible impulse, he held out his
arms, and she melted into them. For one entrancing instant, he held her
close and warm upon his br