“Hadad died also. And the dukes of Edom were; duke Timnah, duke Aliah, duke Jetheth,
“Duke Aholibamah, duke Elah, duke Pimon.”
The musty chronicle meant nothing. She turned again, parting the leaves near to the end.
“Salute Prisca and Aquila, and the household of Onesiphorus.
“Erastus abode at Corinth: but Trophimus have I left at Miletum sick.”
She almost laughed at the banality of her haphazard choice. She knew the pages full of condemnation for the unworthy thought. Now they mocked her. Impatiently she opened the huge volume wide in the middle. A new and intense eagerness illumed her face as her eyes rested on the page:
“Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold, thou art fair; thou hast doves’ eyes.
“My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
“By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.
“My beloved is white and ruddy, the chiefest among ten thousand.
“His head is as the most fine gold, his locks are bushy, and black as a raven.
“His eyes are as the eyes of doves by the rivers of waters, washed with milk, and fitly set.
“His cheeks are as a bed of spices, as sweet flowers: his lips like lilies, dropping sweet-smelling myrrh.* * *
“His mouth is most sweet: yea, he is altogether lovely.”
She looked up startled, her breath struggling in her breast; a deep, vivid blush spread over her face and neck, glowing crimson against the whiteness of her apparel.
The room seemed suddenly dense with a dank, spicy smell of roses mixed with salty wind. It spread from the pages of the book and hung wreathing about her till the air was filled with fiery flowers. She felt herself burning hot, as if a flame were scorching her flesh. In the emptiness of the room, she caught her hands to her cheeks shamedly, lest the world could see that tell-tale color. Even the dim candles’ light angered her, and she blew them out, creeping into the soft bed hastily, as though into a hiding-place.