“But you cannot always be my nurse, Janet:  you are young —­ you must marry one day.”

“I don’t care about being married.”

“You should care, Janet:  if I were what I once was, I would try to make you care —­ but —­ a sightless block!”

He relapsed again into gloom.  I, on the contrary, became more cheerful, and took fresh courage:  these last words gave me an insight as to where the difficulty lay; and as it was no difficulty with me, I felt quite relieved from my previous embarrassment.  I resumed a livelier vein of conversation.

“It is time some one undertook to rehumanise you,” said I, parting his thick and long uncut locks; “for I see you are being metamorphosed into a lion, or something of that sort.  You have a ‘faux air’ of Nebuchadnezzar in the fields about you, that is certain:  your hair reminds me of eagles’ feathers; whether your nails are grown like birds’ claws or not, I have not yet noticed.”

“On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails,” he said, drawing the mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me.  “It is a mere stump —­ a ghastly sight!  Don’t you think so, Jane?”

“It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes —­ and the scar of fire on your forehead:  and the worst of it is, one is in danger of loving you too well for all this; and making too much of you.”

“I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my cicatrised visage.”

“Did you?  Don’t tell me so —­ lest I should say something disparaging to your judgment.  Now, let me leave you an instant, to make a better fire, and have the hearth swept up.  Can you tell when there is a good fire?”

“Yes; with the right eye I see a glow —­ a ruddy haze.”

“And you see the candles?”

“Very dimly —­ each is a luminous cloud.”

“Can you see me?”

“No, my fairy:  but I am only too thankful to hear and feel you.”

“When do you take supper?”

“I never take supper.”

“But you shall have some to-night.  I am hungry:  so are you, I daresay, only you forget.”

Summoning Mary, I soon had the room in more cheerful order:  I prepared him, likewise, a comfortable repast.  My spirits were excited, and with pleasure and ease I talked to him during supper, and for a long time after.  There was no harassing restraint, no repressing of glee and vivacity with him; for with him I was at perfect ease, because I knew I suited him; all I said or did seemed either to console or revive him.  Delightful consciousness!  It brought to life and light my whole nature:  in his presence I thoroughly lived; and he lived in mine.  Blind as he was, smiles played over his face, joy dawned on his forehead:  his lineaments softened and warmed.

After supper, he began to ask me many questions, of where I had been, what I had been doing, how I had found him out; but I gave him only very partial replies:  it was too late to enter into particulars that night.  Besides, I wished to touch no deep-thrilling chord —­ to open no fresh well of emotion in his heart:  my sole present aim was to cheer him.  Cheered, as I have said, he was:  and yet but by fits.  If a moment’s silence broke the conversation, he would turn restless, touch me, then say, “Jane.”