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 rehumanize 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 eagle's feathers; whether your nails are grown like bird's 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 shewing 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 cicatrized 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
