"Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. 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 hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. Surely she could ignore him. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Now tell them why. But they did not know how good she was, how perfect she was. Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. His father spoke for him. ” “Many other people,” she remarked, “have made the same mistake. He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss.
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