Nothing could have been farther from Melusine’s mind. The burden of decision had been transferred. A radiant smile astonished him. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. 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. “Why?” He inquired. ” He signed his name and reflected. And when I have steeped him to the lips in vice and depravity; when I have led him to the commission of every crime; when there is neither retreat nor advance for him; when he has plundered his benefactor, and broken the heart of his mother—then—but not till then, I will consign him to the fate to which I consigned his father. .
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