How she needed him! Next moment, she had wrenched open the door, and was confronting her guard. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. Now, as she stared at the image of her own face, she recalled something Major Alderley had said. The latter were saved; but of the former nothing but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow. She stole her glances sideways like the rest of the women. 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 often wonder why the young always take us ancients for nambypamby creatures. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute.
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