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. "It must look sharp then, or I shall give it the slip," laughed Ben: "the gale never yet blowed as could perwent my crossing the Thames. But, alas! Ah Cum shrugged philosophically. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. Wood will protect you," urged Mrs.
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