It was inexpressibly sad to see Nicholas Naranovitsch that day, for, despite the fact that by means of a cork foot he could walk slowly to the church without the aid of a crutch, his empty sleeve, marred visage, and slightly stooping gait, but poorly represented the handsome young soldier of former days.
But my sister saw none of the blemishes—only the beauties—of the man.
“You’ve only got quarter of a husband, Bella,” he said with a sad smile when the ceremony was over.
“You were unnecessarily large before,” retorted Bella. “You could stand reducing; besides, you are doubled to-day, which makes you equal to two quarters, and as the wife is proverbially the better half, that brings you up nearly to three quarters, so don’t talk any more nonsense, sir. With good nursing I shall manage, perhaps, to make a whole of you once more.”
“So be it,” said Nicholas, kissing her. When they had left us, my mother called me—
“Jeff,” she said, with a look of decision in her meek face which I have not often observed there, “I have made up my mind that you must go back to Turkey.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, Jeff. You had no right, my dear boy, to bring that child away from her home in such a hurry.”
“But,” said I remonstratively, “her home at the time I carried her off was destroyed—indeed, most of the village was a smoking ruin, and liable at any moment to be replundered by the irregular troops of both sides, while Ivanka’s parents were reported dead—what could I do?”
“I don’t know what you could do in those circumstances, but I know what you can do now, and that is, pack your portmanteau and prepare to take Ivanka to Venilik. The child must be at once restored to her parents. I cannot bear to think of their remaining in ignorance of her being alive. Very likely Nicholas and Bella will be persuaded to extend their honeymoon to two, or even three, months, and join you in a tour through the south of Europe, after which you will all come home strong and well to spend the winter with me.”