was forfeited, as it must needs be when we are in the false position: we
can have no glory though martyred. The youth felt it, even to the seeing
of why it was; and he resolved, in justice to the dear girl, that he
would break loose from his fetters, as we call our weakness. Behold,
Rose met him descending the stairs, and, taking his hand, sang,
unabashed, by the tell-tale colour coming over her face, a stave of a
little Portuguese air that they had both been fond of in Portugal; and
he, listening to it, and looking in her eyes, saw that his feelings in--
the old time had been hers. Instantly the old time gave him its breath,
the present drew back.

Rose, now that she had given her heart out, had no idea of concealment.
She would have denied nothing to her aunts: she was ready to confide it
to her mother. Was she not proud of the man she loved? When Evan's hand
touched hers she retained it, and smiled up at him frankly, as it were to
make him glad in her gladness. If before others his eyes brought the
blood to her cheeks, she would perhaps drop her eye-lids an instant,
and then glance quickly level again to reassure him. And who would have
thought that this boisterous, boyish creature had such depths of eye!
Cold, did they call her? Let others think her cold. The tender
knowledge of her--the throbbing secret they held in common sang at his
heart. Rose made no confidante, but she attempted no mystery. Evan
should have risen to the height of the noble girl. But the dearer and
sweeter her bearing became, the more conscious he was of the dead weight
he was dragging: in truth her behaviour stamped his false position to
hard print the more he admired her for it, and he had shrinkings from the
feminine part it imposed on him to play.