On the first night, he only unpacked and arranged his things, and slept.
At daylight he sat down before a mirror, and began to design his new
physiognomy with the make-up pencils. By noon he was ready to lay aside
the pencils and substitute instruments of more lasting effect. Don't
fear, Miss Hill, that I'm going to describe his operations in detail.
I'll pass them over entirely, merely saying that after two days of work
he was elated with the results he could already foresee upon the healing
of the cuts. Such pain as there was, he had braced himself to endure. The
worst of it came when he exchanged knives for tweezers, and attacked his
eyebrows. This was really a tedious business, and he was glad to find
that he could produce a sufficient increase of curve without going the
full length of his design. In his necessary intervals of rest, he
practised the new handwriting. He was most regular in his diet, sleep,
and use of medicines. After a few days, he had nothing left to do, as far
as the facial operations were concerned, but attend to their healing. He
then began to wear the shoulder-braces, and took up the matter of voice.
"But meanwhile, in the midst of his work one day,--his second day of
concealment, it was,--he had a little experience that produced quite as
disturbing a sensation in him as Robinson Crusoe felt when he came
across the footprints. While he was busy in front of his mirror, in the
afternoon, he heard steps on the stairs outside.
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