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“But it is so difficult——” “Not at all,” he answered eagerly. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. The drunken beachcombers; the one-sided education; the utter loneliness of a white child without playfellows, human or animal, without fairy stories, who for days was left alone while the father visited neighbouring islands, these pictures sank far below their actual importance. Yet even now there were so many things untouched, so much to be learned. ‘No more, Saling, no more,’ said Mrs Sindlesham in accents of exhaustion. It will take at least three weeks. Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. She would never look squarely at these dream forms that mocked the social order in which she lived, never admit she listened to the soft whisperings in her ear. ‘Might have forgiven him,’ he muttered under his breath, ‘if he hadn’t taken the babe. 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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