“Had he any hopes and plans? Enthusiasm? Did life look bright to him?”
A serious look traversed her face, as though she were entertaining a new thought.
“Look at him as he used to be,” I continued.
And as I spoke, she saw that a young man with a fresh, sunny face—a healthy, happy, care-free face—was sitting in the ruddy firelight.
She gave a start.
“That is Joe as he used to be!” she said. “Oh, how he’s changed!”
Even as she spoke, the young man faded away, and an older man—much older, apparently, careworn, and unhappy-looking—took his place.
The coals in the glowing grate sank, and the bright light suddenly died. A deep shadow rested upon the figure beside us; he was with us, and yet seemed so alone.
“Who would think a man could change that way in ten years!” exclaimed Mrs. Purblind; “would you believe it possible?”
“Not unless he had known many disappointments, and borne loads and cares beyond his years.”