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 thoughts were busy with the possibilities of this break in her journey. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer.
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