" A faint flush rose in the man's pale and noble face.
"You have my word," he said, in the tone of one who is sure of being
believed, "that I have never, to my knowledge, heard of your existence,
that I am ignorant even of your name--forgive my ignorance--and that I
entered this house, not knowing whose it might be, seeking and following
after one for whom I have searched the world, one dearly loved, long
lost, long sought."
"It is enough. Be seated. I am Unorna."
"Unorna?" repeated the Wanderer, with an unconscious question in his
voice, as though the name recalled some half-forgotten association.
"Unorna--yes. I have another name," she added, with a shade of
bitterness, "but it is hardly mine. Tell me your story. You loved--you
lost--you seek--so much I know. What else?"
The Wanderer sighed.
"You have told in those few words the story of my life--the unfinished
story. A wanderer I was born, a wanderer I am, a wanderer I must ever
be, until at last I find her whom I seek. I knew her in a strange land,
far from my birthplace, in a city where I was known but to a few, and
I loved her. She loved me, too, and that against her father's will. He
would not have his daughter wed with one not of her race; for he himself
had taken a wife among strangers, and while she was yet alive he had
repented of what he had done. But I would have overcome his reasons and
his arguments--she and I could have overcome them together, for he did
not hate me, he bore me no ill-will.
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