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Updated: June 11, 2025
Israel Kafka remained where he stood, between the two tall stones, one hand resting on each, his body inclined a little forward, his dark, sunken eyes, bloodshot and full of a turbid, angry brightness, bent intently upon Unorna's face.
A sudden crash of something very heavy, falling upon stone, broke the great stillness the dark form tottered, reeled and fell to its length upon the great altar. Unorna saw that the golden door was still closed, and that Beatrice had fallen. Unable to move or act by her own free judgment, and compelled by Unorna's determined command, she had made a desperate effort to obey.
By Eblis, Ahriman, and the Three Black Angels! He is worse, and there is no seeming. The heat is greater, the pulse is weaker, the heart flutters like a sick bird." Unorna's face showed her anxiety. "I am sorry," she said, in a low voice. "Sorry! No doubt you are.
"As we hope to find forgiveness and trust in a life to come," they answered. There was a low sound in the air, unearthly, muffled, desperate as of a strong being groaning in awful agony. When they looked, they saw that Keyork Arabian was gone. The dawn of a coming day rose in Unorna's face as she sank back. "It is over," she sighed, as her eyes closed.
Or, possibly, he had an object to gain in exaggerating his thankfulness to Unorna's preserver. He knew that Keyork rarely did anything without an object, and that, although he was occasionally very odd and excitable, he was always in reality perfectly well aware of what he was doing. He was roused from his speculations by Keyork's voice. "There will be no difficulty in securing Kafka," he said.
"She is gone out," the portress replied. "Gone out? Where? Alone?" "With a lady who was here last night a lady with unlike eyes " "Where? Where? Where are they gone?" asked Keyork hardly able to find breath. "The lady bade the coachman drive her home but where she lives " "Home? To Unorna's home? It is not true! I see it in your eyes. Witch! Hag! Let me in! Let me in, I say!
The memory of his meeting with her on that same morning was not clear at that moment, but he had not forgotten the odd disturbance of his faculties which had distressed him at the time. He was inclined to resist any return of the doubtful state and to oppose Unorna's influence.
"Even if I had, what right have I to make myself the judge of your life?" "The right of friendship," answered the Wanderer very quietly. "You are my best friend, Unorna." Unorna's anger rose within her.
Then he had outlived pride itself, and the ancient scholar had begged his bread. In his hundredth year he had leaned for rest against Unorna's door, and she had taken him in and cared for him, and since that time she had preserved his life. For his history was known in the ancient city, and it was said that he had possessed great wisdom in his day.
She seized the moving arms and tried to hold them down, pressing her face forward so as to look into the dark eyes she could but faintly distinguish. It was no easy matter, however, for Beatrice was young and strong and active. Then all at once she began to see Unorna's eyes, as Unorna could see hers, and she felt the terrible influence stealing over her again.
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