"Of what are you thinking now?" he asked, as her white fingers played with the shining ripples.
"Of Bermuda," she replied, with a soft smile in her averted face.
"You were a child then—five years ago—and now——"
"What am I now?" she asked, laughingly.
"Look into the water where your face is reflected, and you will see."
"See—what?"
"A face, like no other in this world—to me, especially."
"Now you talk foolishly."
"God knows, I do—perhaps," said he, sadly; "it is pleasant to dream for the present, and to forget the coming future, for all this sweet companionship must end, and when I return to England again, you will be no longer Clara Hampton."
"What then—or who then?" she asked in a low voice.