"He has done better than I expected of him," said the Squire. "There is
nothing like adversity for trying what a man's made of. But who can
wonder at his exerting himself to obtain such a reward?" And he bowed to
the blushing Elinor, as she sat with Algernon's letter in her hand,
radiant with joy.
"He talks of returning in less than two years: I wish it were now. I am
already three-and-twenty; by that time I shall begin to look old."
Mark thought that she never looked younger, or more beautiful, than at
that moment, and he told her so.
"Ah, but you are my friend--are partial. Will not Algernon see a
change?"
"Yes--for the better."
"I wish I could believe you. But I feel older. My heart is not so fresh
as it was; I no longer live in a dream; I see things as they really
are."
"And do you expect to find no change in your lover? The burning climate
of India is not a great beautifier."
"I can only see him as he was. If his heart remains unchanged, no
alteration in his personal appearance could shake my regard,
particularly when those changes have been incurred for my sake."
"Oh, woman, great is your faith!" said Mark, with a sigh. "Gladly would
I give my fortune to be Algernon."
Elinor started, and looked anxiously at her companion. It was the first
time he had ever alluded to his secret passion.
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