One morning, when we had dressed our invalid, and laid him on the sofa, he and I chanced to be left alone.
“Come here, Jeff,” he said, “assist me to the glass—I want to have a look at myself.”
It was the first time he had expressed such a desire, and I hesitated for a moment, not feeling sure of the effect that the sight might have on him. Then I went to him, and only remarking in a quiet tone, “You’ll improve, you know, in the course of time,” I led him to the looking-glass.
He turned slightly pale, and a look of blank surprise flitted across his face, but he recovered instantly, and stood for a few seconds surveying himself with a sad expression.
Well might he look sad, for the figure that met his gaze stooped like that of an aged man; the head was shorn of its luxuriant curls; the terrible sabre-cut across the cheek, from the temple to the chin, which had destroyed the eye, had left a livid wound, a single glance at which told that it would always remain as a ghastly blemish; and there were other injuries of a slighter nature on various parts of the face, which marred his visage dreadfully.
“Yes, Jeff,” he said, turning away slowly, with a sigh, and limping back to his couch, “there’s room for improvement. I thought myself not a bad-looking fellow once. It’s no great matter to have that fancy taken out of me, perhaps, but I grieve for Bella, and I really do think that you must persuade her to give up all idea of—”
“Now, Nic,” said I, “don’t talk nonsense.”
“But I don’t talk nonsense,” he exclaimed, flushing with sudden energy, “I mean what I say. Do you suppose I can calmly allow that dear girl to sacrifice herself to a mere wreck, that cannot hope to be long a cumberer of the ground?”
“And do you suppose,” I retorted, with vehemence, “that I can calmly allow my sister to be made a widow for life?—a widow, I say, for she is already married to you in spirit, and nothing will ever induce her to untie the knot. You don’t know Bella—ah! you needn’t smile,—you don’t indeed. She is the most perversely obstinate girl I ever met with. Last night, when I mentioned to her that you had been speaking of yourself as a mere wreck, she said in a low, easy-going, meek tone, ‘Jeff, I mean to cling to that wreck as long as it will float, and devote my life to repairing it.’ Now, when Bella says anything in a low, easy-going, and especially in a meek tone, it is utterly useless to oppose her: she has made up her mind, drawn her sword and flung away the scabbard, double-shotted all her guns, charged every torpedo in the ship, and, finally, nailed her colours to the mast.”
“Then,” said Nicholas, with a laugh, “I suppose I must give in.”