Martha had been more to her than that. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. I’ve wanted you—always. , and get some other man to live on as soon as possible. And mind, your life,—more than your life—hangs upon your choice. 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. She found an old drunk wandering the streets. That poor child, trying to escape, and not knowing how.
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