“Dare!” she said. She lied. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. It is quite outrageous of me to go about rescuing a damsel in distress—’ ‘Who does not in the least wish to be rescued,’ put in Melusine. 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.
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