At least he could hardly have struck her true heart with his miserable lie.

But that chance was lost they were in the street, where passions have no play.
'Tell me, Evan,--it is not true.' He, refining on his misery, thought, She would not ask it if she trusted me: and answered her: 'You have heard it from your mother, Rose.' 'But I will not believe it from any lips but yours, Evan.

Oh, speak, speak!' It pleased him to think: How could one who loved me believe it even then?
He said: 'It can scarcely do good to make me repeat it, Rose.' And then, seeing her dear bosom heave quickly, he was tempted to fall on his knees to her with a wild outcry of love.

The chance was lost.

The inexorable street forbade it.
There they stood in silence, gasping at the barrier that divided them.
Suddenly a noise was heard.