She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. ‘You have made a serious mistake, Melusine. The decision had been sound. 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. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. Not that there had ever been any hope of that.
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