Nancy, wrapped in a warm dressing-gown, sat by the fire in an easy-chair and a great shawl. Her fair curls were all put back under a small lace cap, which was tied at the chin with grey ribbon; her pretty blue eyes were bright. I told her what I had come for, and took the chair in front of her.
“You look so well this evening, Nancy,” I said heartily—for I had learnt to call her so at Madame Carimon’s, as they did. “We shall have you getting well now all one way.”
“It is the spurt of the candle before going out,” she quietly answered. “I have not the least pain left anywhere—but it is only that.”
“You should not say or think so.”
“But I know it; I cannot mistake my own feelings. Fancy any one, reduced as I am, getting well again!”
I am a bad one to keep up “make-believes.” Truth to say, I felt as sure of it as she did.
“And it will not be very long first. Johnny,” she went on, in a half-whisper, “I saw Lavinia to-day.”
I looked at her, but made no reply.
“I have never seen her since I came back here. Edwin has, though; I am sure of it. This afternoon at dusk I woke up out of a doze, for getting up to sit here quite exhausts me, and I was moving forward to touch the hand-bell on the table there, to let Flore know I was ready for my tea, when I saw Lavinia. She was standing over there, just in the firelight. I thought she seemed to be holding out her hand to me, as if inviting me to go to her, and on her face there was the sweetest smile of welcome; sweeter than could be seen on any face in life. All the sad, mournful, beseeching look had left it. She stood there for about a minute, and then vanished.”
“Were you very much frightened?”