Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. 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. His name was Bartolomeo di Alberti. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself. You have taken upon your shoulders the burden of her misdeeds. I’m like a creature just wakened up. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was too late.
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