“MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. ’ ‘Your groom? What for?’ ‘Get him to wait outside. Beyond was a narrow bridge, crossing a circular building, at the bottom of which lay a deep well. “We will do Paris like the tourists, and thank God here comes dinner. Jackson, I could almost fancy we had met before. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. “Girls of sixteen do not need their own laundry hampers. He would always be her friend, too. “I will tell you when to stop. 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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