Chapter XVI

I have striven for three whole years to forget;
I have prayed, ay, grovelled to God; and yet
At the glimpse of a pictured face, of a form
That suggested yours—like a blighting storm
The Past rose up, and in anguish cried,
"Oh, fool! I live, it was You who died."

_The Riverside Press Limited, Edinburgh_

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Transcriber's Notes

Minor punctuation and printer errors repaired.

Italic text is denoted by _underscores_