She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically. 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. "Oh!—to see you thus!" cried Thames, in an agony of affliction. ’ ‘It cannot be helped now. Ruth came to him directly. But if only you will come I do not care.
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