He then made off. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. Gerald, intent on his trail, ignored it. I don't want her hurt. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. 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. ’ ‘I don’t even know your granddaughter, ma’am.
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