“You stay right there while I light the lamp, then you won’t fall over anything,” said Mrs. Nichols; and Nell did as she was told, feeling very thankful that the long exciting day was over at last, and that she had nothing more to do but to sit still and rest.
The lamp, when lighted, revealed a well-spread supper-table, and a most inviting armchair, into which Nell was promptly hustled, and ordered to take her boots off.
“What a nice room!” she exclaimed, her attention being immediately attracted by a row of books on a long shelf in the farther recess.
“It is comfortable; but then, I’ve been used to being comfortable all my life,” Mrs. Nichols said, with a laugh, as she poked up the fire, drew the coffee-pot nearer to boil up again, and then, opening the oven door, lifted out a dish of delicately-browned sausages, surrounded by a rampart of mashed potato.
Nell enjoyed her supper, and the unaccustomed sensation of being waited upon; but she was conscious all the time of being held in close scrutiny by her hostess, who kept dropping into strange silence.
“You said your name was Eleanor Hamblyn, didn’t you? Was your father a preacher on the American side years ago?” the good woman asked presently.
“Yes,” replied Nell, but with a sudden shrinking, for with her grandfather’s injunction to secrecy fresh in her mind, it was rather embarrassing that this woman should recognize her.
“I was sure of it, for you are just your mother over again; poor Nell Gwynne, with her great dark eyes and her sweet low voice,” said Mrs. Nichols, then burst into a fit of hearty crying.