” Sir John’s reply was incoherent. “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. 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. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton. Then, I thought, she has repented, all will be well.
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