Hope started, turned pale, and withdrew her hand from his grasp.
“I said you would change, and you boast that you will.”
“Only to be better, nobler, more worthy of your love.”
She looked dreamily into his face and murmured:
“And I? I shall be the same—”
“Surely, dear Hope. Lovely and beautiful. Always growing dear to my heart.”
She shook her head, and in the same dreamy way went on:
“When the sun goes down I am never quite sure it will come up again; and when it does it has not the same look. The same cloud never returns; the withered blossom does not bloom again; no face wears twice the same look; the smile of yesterday is not that of to-day.”
“But the heart, little Hope, the heart is the same.”
“No, no, no! least of all. That goes on and adds or loses and the eye tells of its altered beatings. No, John Bonyton, I shall never see you again. See how changed we two are since we last met. Look upon the rock yonder jutting over the sea. What do you behold?”