‘So I shall do so. She is, in her way, a dear. 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. And at the sight something leaped within her. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. Undraw the curtain, love," she added to Thames, "that I may look at you. "I'd rather you went over the last four chapters, which I haven't polished yet.
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