Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. " "Peace!" retorted Jack, with increased bitterness. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. She was for ever scanning luggage and finding her way about the world, via these miniature pictures. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. " "Well said, Jack," cried Figg. His first date, he was a late bloomer for a Popular.
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