She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love. On the way he confessed. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her. . What he told the vicomte I was not privileged to learn. 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. I wouldn't keep an apprentice to set my authority at defiance. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved.
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