“Come, dear, come to me,” said Holdsworth in a low voice.
The child approached him slowly, stopping now and again, and looking shyly at Mrs. Parrot.
“Tut! tut!” exclaimed that lady. “What are you afraid of, Miss Nelly? Go and shake hands with the gentleman, like a little lady.”
Holdsworth put out his hand; the child advanced a step nearer; he fell upon one knee and drew her to him.
For some moments he could not speak; he could only look at her—look with eyes of all-devouring love absorbing all the sweetness of that young face, feeling a pang of exquisite joy, but shivering quickly as his fingers locked themselves upon her tiny hand.
He longed to press the little creature to his heart, to fasten his lips upon her mouth, to weep over her.
“Tell me your name, little one!”
“Nelly,” replied the child, keeping at arm’s length from him, and staring into his face.
“Nelly what?”