Brilliana affected to peer into the darkness of a green garden.
“‘What man art thou, that thus bescreened in night,
So stumblest on my counsel?’”
Evander answered, very earnest now:
“‘By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am:
My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
Because it is an enemy to thee:
Had I it written, I would tear the word.’”
Brilliana’s voice faltered as she took up the tale.
“‘My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
Of thy tongue’s uttering, yet I know the sound.
Art thou not Romeo, and a Montague?’”
Evander was quite near now to the chair and the fair maid perched upon it, and the words trembled on his lips.
“‘Neither, fair maid, if either thee dislike.’”
He put out his hands and caught hers for a moment. Then she drew them free and jumped down. She went to the open space and looked into the wet garden with a hand to her head and a hand to her heart. Evander followed her.