If Unorna could be said to know the meaning of the word fear in any
degree whatsoever, it was in relation to Keyork Arabian, the man who
during the last few years had been her helper and associate in the great
experiment. Of all men she had known in her life, he was the only one
whom she felt to be beyond the influence of her powers, the only one
whom she felt that she could not charm by word, or touch, or look. The
odd shape of his head, she fancied, figured the outline and proportions
of his intelligence, which was, as it were, pyramidal, standing upon a
base so broad and firm as to place the centre of its ponderous gravity
far beyond her reach to disturb. There was certainly no other being of
material reality that could have made Unorna start and turn pale by its
inopportune appearance.
"The best thing you can do is to put him to sleep at once," said the
little man. "You can be angry afterwards, and, I thank heaven, so can
I--and shall."
"Forget," said Unorna, once more laying her hand upon the waxen brow.
"Let it be as though I had not spoken with you. Drink, in your sleep,
of the fountain of life, take new strength into your body and new blood
into your heart. Live, and when I next wake you be younger by as many
months as there shall pass hours till then. Sleep."
A low sigh trembled in the hoary beard. The eyelids drooped over the
sunken eyes, there was a slight motion of the limbs, and all was still,
save for the soft and regular breathing.
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