” “I am going to ask more than a favour,” she said slowly. 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. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom.
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