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His position towards Israel Kafka was altogether unexpected, and what he felt was no more than pity for his sufferings and indignation against those who had caused them. When the door was suddenly opened, he stood still in his walk and faced it. He hardly recognised Unorna in the pale, dishevelled woman with circled eyes who came towards him under the bright light.
I was going to confess with the utmost frankness and the most sincere truth that my only crime against Heaven is a most perfect, unswerving, devotional love for my own particular Self. In that attachment I have never wavered yet but I really cannot say what may become of Keyork Arabian if he looks at you much longer." "He might become a human being," suggested Unorna.
The Wanderer saw him first and called to him. "Keyork come here!" he said. "Who is this man?" For a moment Keyork seemed speechless with amazement. But it was anger that choked his words. Then he came on quickly. "Who waked him?" he cried in fury. "What is this? Why is he here?" "Unorna waked me," answered the ancient sleeper very calmly. "Unorna? Again? The curse of The Three Black Angels on her!
It was clear that the Wanderer's warning had been conveyed without loss of time and had saved Unorna from her immediate fate. Nevertheless, he did not regret having given her the opportunity of defending herself. He had not meant that there should be any secret about the deed, for he was ready to sacrifice his own life in executing it. Yet he was not altogether brave.
Unorna walked forward in silence, choosing a path so narrow that her companion found himself obliged to drop behind and follow in her footsteps. In the wildest part of this wilderness of death there is a little rising of the ground. Here both the gravestones and the stunted trees are thickest, and the solitude is, if possible, even more complete than elsewhere.
What Israel Kafka had told him was very true. Should he attempt a denunciation, he would have little chance of being believed. It would be easy enough for Kafka to bring witnesses to prove his own love for Unorna and the Wanderer's intimacy with her during the past month, and the latter's consequent interest in disposing summarily of his Moravian rival.
She was on the point of saying that she knew already and too well. "I am Beatrice Varanger." "I am Unorna." She could not help a sort of cold defiance that sounded in her tone as she pronounced the only name she could call hers. "Unorna?" Beatrice repeated, courteously enough, but with an air of surprise. "Yes that is all. It seems strange to you?
"I do not fear Israel Kafka, and I fear death less," answered Unorna deliberately. "Why does he mean to kill me?" "I think that in his place most every human men would feel as he does, though religion, or prudence, or fear, or all three together, might prevent them from doing what they would wish to do." "You too? And which of the three would prevent you from murdering me?"
He imagined that the Wanderer had gone and that Unorna, being freed from his restraint, was about to enter the place again. The door opened and the three men came in. Kafka's first idea, on seeing himself disappointed, was that they had come to take him into custody, and his first impulse was to elude them.
"Not dead? Not dead!" he repeated, in changing tones. "Come with me. I will show her to you." He gazed at her and his senses reeled. Her words sounded like rarest music in his ear; in the darkness of his brain a soft light began to diffuse itself. "Is it possible? Have I been mistaken?" he asked in a low voice, as though speaking to himself. "Come!" said Unorna again very gently. "Whither?
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