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Updated: June 8, 2025
"I do not see how that is possible," he answered slowly. Unorna was not like him, and did not understand such a nature as his as she understood Keyork Arabian. She had believed that he would at least hold out some hope. "You might have spared me that!" she said, turning her face away. There were tears in her voice.
She recognised them and a strange thrill of triumph ran through her. What matter how? What matter where? The old reckless questions came to her mind again. If he loved her, and if he would but call her Unorna, what could it matter, indeed? Was she not herself? She smiled unconsciously. "I see it pleases you," he said tenderly. "Let it be as you wish. What name will you choose for your dear self?"
The Wanderer drew back, not understanding what was passing, nor why Unorna was so long-suffering. "Say all you have to say," she repeated, coming forward so that she stood directly in front of Israel Kafka. "And you," she added, speaking to the Wanderer, "leave him to me. He is quite right I can protect myself if I need any protection." "You remember how we parted, Unorna?" said Kafka.
"Do as I command you," Unorna repeated with the angry and dominant intonation that always came into her voice when she was not obeyed. Again the hand was raised for a moment, groped in the darkness and sank down into the shadow. "Beatrice Varanger, you must do my will. I order you to open the door of the tabernacle, to take out what is within and to throw it to the ground!"
One of two things must happen: he must overcome or he must die. To draw back, to let his glance waver, to show so much as the least sign of fear, is death. The moment is supreme, and he knows it. Unorna grasped the arms of her chair as though seeking for physical support in her extremity. She could not yield. Before her eyes arose a vision unlike the reality in all its respects.
But we have made many attempts to renew the old frame, and we are no farther advanced than we were nearly four years ago. Theories will not make tissues." "What will?" "Blood," answered Keyork Arabian very softly. "I have heard of that being done for young people in illness," said Unorna.
"And as for old age," he said, dwelling upon her speech, "what is that to us? Let it come, since come it must. It is good to be young and fair and strong, but would not you or I give up all that for love's sake, each of us of our own free will, rather than lose the other's love?" "Indeed, indeed I would!" Unorna answered. "Then what of age? What is it after all?
You are only a weak woman!" Very slowly he drew nearer to her side, his lithe figure bending a little as he looked down upon her. Unorna leaned far back, withdrawing her face from his as far as she could, but still trying to impose her will upon him. "You cannot," he said between his teeth, answering her thought. Men who have tamed wild beasts alone know what such a moment is like.
"Not unless she is a very singularly reticent person," answered Keyork, with a laugh. "But you need not go so far as the ghost theory for an explanation. You were hypnotised, my dear friend, and he made you see her. That is as simple as anything need be." "But that is impossible, because " Unorna stopped and changed colour. "Because you had hypnotised him already," suggested Keyork gravely.
The nun was silent for a moment, gathering her recollections. "There is one, at least, who knows her," she said at length. "A great lady here it is said that she, too, meddles with forbidden practices and that Unorna has often been with her that together they have called up the spirits of the dead with strange rappings and writings.
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