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Updated: June 11, 2025
The common story, and the one which on the whole was nearest to the truth, told that she was the daughter of a noble of eastern Bohemia who had died soon after her birth, the last of his family, having converted his ancestral possessions into money for Unorna's benefit, in order to destroy all trace of her relationship to him.
With her he had tried the great experiment and pushed it to the very end; and when he conducted Israel Kafka to his home, he already knew that the experiment had succeeded. His plan was a simple one. He would wait a few months longer for the final result, he would select his victim, and with Unorna's help he would himself grow young again.
Again he fixed his eyes on Unorna's face and faintly smiled. Apparently she was displeased. "What is it that you would say?" she asked coldly. "What is this that you tell us of rocks and rain, and death-wounds, and the rest? You say you loved me once that was a madness. You say that I never loved you that, at least, is truth. Is that your story?
"That is to say, inquiries for which she is already prepared with a reply," suggested the Wanderer. "See for yourself. At all events, she is a very interesting specimen. I have never known any one like her." Keyork Arabian was silent, as though he were reflecting upon Unorna's character and peculiar gifts, before describing them to his friend.
Unorna's hand dropped to her side, and a quick throb of pain stabbed her through and through, agonising as the wound of a blunt and jagged knife, though it was gone almost before she knew where she had felt it. Then her eyes flashed with unlike fires, the one dark and passionate as the light of a black diamond, the other keen and daring as the gleam of blue steel in the sun.
Again that awful sound filled the room, and rose now almost to a wail and died away. Unorna's brow flushed angrily. In the direct line of her vision stood the head of the Malayan woman, its soft, embalmed eyes fixed on hers. "If there are people hidden here," cried Unorna fiercely, "let them show themselves! let them face me! I say it again I would give my immortal soul!"
I know little enough of the world as you understand it, save for what our guests tell me and, indeed, I am glad that I do not know more." "You know almost as much as I do." The sister looked long and earnestly into Unorna's face as though searching for something. She was a thin, pale woman over forty years of age.
Very skilfully had the whole story been put together in all its minutest details, carefully thought out and written down in the form of a journal before it had been impressed upon his sleeping mind with all the tyrannic force of Unorna's strong will.
"And love was her first captive," said the Moravian, "and her first slave. Yes, I will tell you the story of Unorna's life. She is angry with me now. Well, let it be. It is my fault or hers. What matter? She cannot quite forget me out of mind and I? Has Lucifer forgotten God?" He sighed, and a momentary light flashed in his eyes.
Of course, as a fervent Hebrew, which he seems to be, he did not relish the idea of having played the Christian martyr for Unorna's amusement, and amidst the graves of his own people. He there and then impressed me that he intended to take Unorna's life without delay, but insisted that I should warn her of her danger, saying that he would not be a common murderer.
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