" "By Heaven!" cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, "it is true—as true as my affection for you. “This is wonderful! I’ve been feeling that you had vanished from my world. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. 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. He squatted and threw his arm around the backs of her knees.
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