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The Wanderer made a gesture of assent. In a few moments they found themselves in a large room furnished almost in Eastern fashion, with few objects, but those of great value. Israel Kafka was alone in the world and was rich.
The Wanderer took him kindly by the arm, supporting his steps and leading him to a seat. Kafka glanced suspiciously at him and at the other two, but seemed unable to make any further effort and sank back with a low groan. His face grew pale and his eyelids drooped. "Get some wine something to restore him," the Wanderer said. Keyork looked at the Moravian critically for a moment.
He was then in immediate danger of being brought face to face with Israel Kafka without having received the least warning of his present condition, and it was impossible to say what the infuriated youth might do at such a moment.
He was, perhaps, inclined to blame her somewhat less than at first, and her changed manner in speaking of Kafka somewhat encouraged his leniency.
The Wanderer's indolence was only mental, and was moreover transitory and artificial. When he saw Unorna advance, he quickly placed himself between her and Israel Kafka, and looked from one to the other. "Who is this man?" he asked. "And what does he want of you?" Unorna made as though she would pass him. But he laid his hand upon her arm with a gesture that betrayed his anxiety for her safety.
And there was but little probability that Israel Kafka would ever learn what had actually been happening to him while he fancied that he had been travelling swiftly from place to place.
We must settle all this before we go to him. A lunatic asylum is not a club in this country. There is a great deal of formality connected with getting into it, and a great deal more connected with getting out. Now, I could not get a keeper for Kafka without going to the physician in charge and making a statement, and demanding an examination, and all the rest of it.
The Wanderer, too, had turned, more quickly than she. Between two tall gravestones, not a dozen paces away, stood a man with haggard face and eyes on fire, his keen, worn features contorted by a smile in which unspeakable satisfaction struggled for expression with a profound despair. The man was Israel Kafka. The Wanderer looked from Unorna to Kafka with profound surprise.
Kafka said nothing, but his bloodshot eyes glared up angrily at the tall man's face. "He looks dangerous, and he still has that thing in his hand," said Keyork Arabian. "I think I will give him ether at once while the Individual holds him. Perhaps you could do it." "You will do nothing of the kind," the Wanderer answered. "What a coward you are, Keyork!" he added contemptuously.
"I have just rectified a mistake which might have had rather serious consequences," he said, stopping before her and speaking earnestly and quietly. "A mistake?" "We remembered everything, except that our wandering friend and Kafka were very likely to meet, and that Kafka would in all probability refer to his delightful journey to the south in my company."
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