In the Track of the Troops by Robert Michael Ballantyne (fantasy books to read TXT) 📖

us.

"I'm sorry, Nicholas, very sorry," said I, "but Bella has already been written to, and will certainly be here in a day or two. I could not know your state of mind on my first arrival, and, acting as I fancied for the best, I wrote to her."

Nicholas moved uneasily, and I observed a deep flush on his face, but he did not speak.

That evening Ivanka put her arms round my neck, told me she loved Nicholas because of his kindness to her father, and besought me earnestly to tell her what had passed between us.

A good deal amused, I told her as much as I thought she could understand.

"Oh! I should so like to see Bella," she said.

"So you shall, dear, when she comes."

"Does she speak Russian?"

"Yes. She has been several times in Russia, and understands the language well."

As I had predicted, Bella arrived a few days after receiving my letter. My mother accompanied her.

"Oh, Jeff, this is dreadful!" said my poor mother, as she untied her bonnet-strings, and sat down on the sofa beside Bella, who could not for some time utter a word.

"What child is that?" added my mother quickly, observing Ivanka.

"It is the daughter of Dobri Petroff.--Let me introduce you, Ivanka, to my mother, and to my sister Bella--you know Bella?"

I had of course written to them a good deal about the poor child, and Bella had already formed an attachment to her in imagination. She started up on hearing Ivanka's name, and held out both hands. The child ran to her as naturally as the needle turns to the pole.

While my mother and I were talking in a low tone about Nicholas, I could not avoid hearing parts of a conversation between my sister and Ivanka that surprised me much.

"Yes, oh! yes, I am quite sure of it. Your brother told me that he said he would never, never, never be so wicked as to let you come and see him, although he loved you so much that he--"

"Hush, my dear child, not so loud."

Bella's whisper died away, and Ivanka resumed--

"_Yes_, he said there was almost nothing of him left. He was joking, you know, when he said that, but it is not so much of a joke after all, for I saw--"

"Oh! hush, dear, hush; tell me what he said, and speak lower."

Ivanka spoke so low that I heard no more, but what had reached my ear was sufficient to let me know how the current ran, and I was not sorry that poor Bella's mind should be prepared for the terrible reality in this way.

The battle of love was fought and won that day at Nicholas's bedside, and, as usual, woman was victorious.

I shall not weary the reader with all that was said. The concluding sentences will suffice.

"No, Nicholas," said Bella, holding the right hand of the wounded soldier, while my mother looked on with tearful, and Ivanka with eager, eyes, "no, I will not be discarded. You must not presume, on the strength of your being weak, to talk nonsense. I hold you, sir, to your engagement, unless, indeed, you admit yourself to be a faithless man, and wish to cast me off. But you must not dispute with me in your present condition. I shall exercise the right of a wife by ordering you to hold your tongue unless you drop the subject. The doctor says you must not be allowed to talk or excite yourself, and the doctor's orders, you know, must be obeyed."

"Even if he should order a shattered man to renounce all thoughts of marriage?" asked Nicholas.

"If he were to do that," retorted Bella, with a smile, "I should consider your case a serious one, and require a consultation with at least two other doctors before agreeing to submit to his orders. Now, the question is settled, so we will say no more about it. Meanwhile you need careful nursing, and mother and I are here to attend upon you."

Thus with gentle raillery she led the poor fellow to entertain a faint hope that recovery might be possible, and that the future might not be so appallingly black as it had seemed before. Still the hope was extremely faint at first, for no one knew so well as himself what a wreck he was, and how impossible it would be for him, under the most favourable circumstances, ever again to stand up and look like his former self. Poor Bella had to force her pleasantry and her lightsome tones, for she also had fears that he might still succumb, but, being convinced that a cheerful, hopeful state of mind was the best of all medicines, she set herself to administer it in strong doses.

The result was that Nicholas began to recover rapidly. Time passed, and by slow degrees he migrated from his bed to the sofa. Then a few of his garments were put on, and he tried to stand on his remaining leg. The doctor, who assisted me in moving and dressing the poor invalid, comforted him with the assurance that the stump of the other would, in course of time, be well enough to have a cork foot and ankle attached to it.

"And do you know," he added, with a smile, "they make these things so well now that one can scarcely tell a false foot from a real one,--with joint and moveable instep, and toes that work with springs, so that people can walk with them quite creditably--indeed they can; I do not jest, I assure you."

"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 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."

"Yes, my boy, you had better. If you don't, just think what will be the consequences. First of all, you will die sooner than there is any occasion for; then Bella will pine, mope, get into bad health, and gradually fade away. That will break down my mother, whose susceptible spirit could not withstand the shock. Of course, after that my own health would give way, and the hopes of a dear little--well, that is to say, ruination and widespread misery would be the result of your unnatural and useless obstinacy."

"To save you all from that," said Nicholas, "_of course_ I must give in."

And Nicholas did give in, and the result was not half so disastrous as he had feared.


CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.


SOME MORE OF WAR'S CONSEQUENCES.

Let us turn once more to the Balkan Mountains. Snow covers alike the valley and the hill. It is the depth of that inhospitable season when combative men were wont, in former days, to retire into winter quarters, repose on their "laurels," and rest a while until the benign influences of spring should enable them to recommence the "glorious" work of slaying one another.

But modern warriors, like modern weapons, are more terrible now than they used to be. They scout inglorious repose--at least the great statesmen who send them out to battle scout it for them. While these men of super-Spartan mould sit at home in comfortable conclave over mild cigar and bubbling hookah, quibbling over words, the modern warrior is ordered to prolong the conflict; and thus it comes to pass that Muscovite and Moslem pour out their blood like water, and change the colour of the Balkan snows.

In a shepherd's hut, far up the heights, which the smoke of battle could not reach, and where the din of deadly strife came almost softly, like the muttering of distant thunder, a young woman sat on the edge