" "I hope they are, Sir," answered Mrs. 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. Her little white hand stole across the table. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred.
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