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Updated: May 11, 2025
What is eternity, or time, or life to me? I will wait for him here. Why did you tell him what I did, if you wished me to live?" "Why since there are to be questions why did you exercise your cruelty upon an innocent man who loves you?" "Why? There are reasons enough!" Unorna's voice trembled slightly. "You do not know what happened. How should you? You were asleep.
"It would have been exceedingly strange if you had," answered Keyork, in a tone that made her start. Then a magnificent peal of bass laughter rolled through the room, as the gnome sprang suddenly to his feet. "Did I not warn you?" asked Keyork, standing back and contemplating Unorna's surprised face with delight. "Did I not tell you that I was going to make love to you?
"Do not swear. I shall not believe you." "You will believe when you see you will forgive me you will understand." Without answering he exerted his strength and clasping the insensible man more firmly in his arms he made one or two steps forward. Unorna's foot slipped on the frozen ground and she would have fallen to the earth, but she clung to him with desperate energy.
The psalms were finished. There was a pause, and then the words of the ancient hymn floated up to Unorna's ears, familiar in years gone by. Almost unconsciously she herself, by force of old habit, joined in the first verse.
Unorna, seeing the reflection of it in the Wanderer's mind, had fancied it otherwise, though she could not but recognise the reality from the impression she had received. She had imagined it more ethereal, more faint, more sexless, more angelic, as she had seen it in her thoughts. Divine it was, but womanly beyond Unorna's own.
The aged scholar, too, had been cared for as he could not have been cared for elsewhere, and, in the event of an inquiry being made, he could be produced at any moment, and would even afford a brilliant example of Unorna's charitable doings. But Beatrice was a stranger and a person of some importance in the world.
He would have been very much disconcerted had he known that the latter had long been aware of Unorna's love, and was quite able to guess at the cause of Kafka's sudden appearance and extreme excitement.
And the clasped hands were womanly, too, neither full and white and heavy like those of a marble statue, as Unorna's were, nor thin and over-sensitive like those of holy women in old pictures, but real and living, delicate in outline, but not without nervous strength, hands that might linger in another's, not wholly passive, but all responsive to the thrill of a loving touch.
He smiled at the idea, for he had always trusted his own senses and his own memory. Unorna's own mind was clearly wandering, or else she had invented the story, supposing him credulous enough to believe it. In either case it did not deserve a moment's consideration except as showing to what lengths her foolish and ill-bestowed love could lead her. Meanwhile she was in danger.
He had neither Unorna's innate indifference to physical danger, nor the Wanderer's calm superiority to fear.
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