"Nothing, however, can replace the left hand or the lost eye," returned
Nicholas, with a faint attempt at a smile.

"There, my dear sir," returned the doctor, with animation, "you are
quite wrong. The eye, indeed, can never be restored, though it will
partially close, and become so familiar to you and your friends that it
will almost cease to be noticed or remembered; but we shall have a stump
made for the lower arm, with a socket to which you will be able to fix a
fork or a spoon, or--"

"Why, doctor," interrupted Nicholas, "what a spoon _you_ must be to--"

"Come," returned the doctor heartily, "that'll do. My services won't be
required here much longer I see, for I invariably find that when a
patient begins to make bad jokes, there is nothing far wrong with him."

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