"It vexes me," he said, in an apologetic, conciliatory way, "it vexes me to see every holy, sacred thing made vain, by vain unmeaning people. What business has any one to wear a _golden_ cross? Had you worn one of lead or iron, I would not have thrown it into the sea. I wish you _would_ wait a few minutes--_don't_ go! I want to tell you about this cross on my arm. You _asked_ me about it. To me it means ENDURE. Ella, you can't guess how much it means; because it isn't possible for you ever to look into the future as I do. You can't imagine what I see before me. I don't know as I should have thought of engraving an anchor here, under this cross, but when I came down to the beach to-night I was very desperate--I saw you standing up here on this rock, the sunlight was shining on your hair and face, the breeze making sport with your shawl and dress, and you looked to me just like Hope, standing so firm on the rock, looking up so calmly into heaven. Oh, Ella, you can't guess what quiet the sight of you sent into my soul. If you had been an angel, and had stood repeating the words of Jesus as He walked on the waters, I could not have heard you say _Peace_ more distinctly.... One has no right to hope, who can not endure. I don't like to see such awful realities as the cross turned into vain symbols, that's the truth about it. But I want you to forgive me for throwing your cross into the sea, I only wish I could tear every cross from you as easily, as you go through life. I couldn't bear to think that you would very soon, let me see, you are fifteen years old! go among gay people wearing that thing, forgetful of its meaning. Will you forgive me?" The "Yes" she said was more than a half sob--but as if ashamed of the emotion she could not conceal, Ella gave the boy her hand, with a frankness that conveyed all the pardon he wanted. "Will you let me mark the anchor on your arm then, Ella?" "No, but you _may_ do the cross." She sat down beside him again, and he traced on her tender arm, with the fine point of the needle, a symbol and a badge. "And you will not have the Hope?" "That is in my heart." "In truth it is the safest place for it. Your arm might have to be amputated some day, but your heart, I know, will never die while you live." "Can the heart die?" "Yes, it can be killed--it can die of disease, of cold, of fever, a thousand things can destroy it--just as the body is destroyed." "Don't you keep your hope in _your_ heart too?" "Yes, when I have any. There's no moon to-night. Let's go. We shall have a storm before morning. See the waves! they look as if they had been saturated in the Blackness of Darkness, and were just escaped from IT. And, do look up! what a fit pavilion are those clouds for the Angel of Wrath! oh, how I wish he would appear!" "George! George!"