"Leave go my hand, cousin. Thomas is looking like--like the
thunderstorm."

Thomas was the name of Mr. Carson, her husband.

After that I hid myself as well as I could behind a chair, for I was
shy, and watched little Stella Carson, who was the squire's only child,
giving the children presents off the tree. She was dressed as Father
Christmas, with some soft white stuff round her lovely little face, and
she had large dark eyes, which I thought more beautiful than anything
I had ever seen. At last it came to my turn to receive a present--oddly
enough, considered in the light of future events, it was a large monkey.
Stella reached it down from one of the lower boughs of the tree and
handed it to me, saying--

"Dat is my Christmas present to you, little Allan Quatermain."

As she did so her sleeve, which was covered with cotton wool, spangled
over with something that shone, touched one of the tapers and caught
fire--how I do not know--and the flame ran up her arm towards her
throat. She stood quite still. I suppose that she was paralysed with
fear; and the ladies who were near screamed very loud, but did nothing.
Then some impulse seized me--perhaps instinct would be a better word to
use, considering my age. I threw myself upon the child, and, beating at
the fire with my hands, mercifully succeeded in extinguishing it before
it really got hold. My wrists were so badly scorched that they had to be
wrapped up in wool for a long time afterwards, but with the exception of
a single burn upon her throat, little Stella Carson was not much hurt.