And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. He sat up in his chair as though the question had stung him. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. It’s my other side of the moon. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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