"You are betraying yourself, Keyork. You must control your feelings
better, or I shall find out the truth about you."
He glanced keenly at her, and was silent for a while. Unorna rose slowly
to her feet, and standing beside him, began to twist her hair into a
great coil upon her head.
"What made you let it down?" asked Keyork with some curiosity, as he
watched her.
"I hardly know," she answered, still busy with the braids. "I was
nervous, I suppose, as you say, and so it got loose and came down."
"Nervous about our friend?"
She did not reply, but turned from him with a shake of the head and took
up her fur mantle.
"You are not going?" said Keyork quietly, in a tone of conviction.
She started slightly, dropped the sable, and sat down again.
"No," she said, "I am not going yet. I do not know what made me take my
cloak."
"You have really no cause for nervousness now that it is all over,"
remarked the sage, who had not descended from his perch on the table.
"He is very well. It is one of those cases which are interesting as
being new, or at least only partially investigated. We may as well speak
in confidence, Unorna, for we really understand each other. Do you not
think so?"
"That depends on what you have to say."
"Not much--nothing that ought to offend you. You must consider, my
dear," he said, assuming an admirably paternal tone, "that I might be
your father, and that I have your welfare very much at heart, as well as
your happiness.
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