She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. 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 Gérard—if you mean the fellow Alderley who was making eyes at Yolande—is not here. They then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber. But I waited in vain.
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