Seeing that Israel Kafka could not be
immediately restored to consciousness, he rose to his feet again and
stood between the prostrate victim and Unorna.
"You are killing this man instead of saving him," he said. "His crime,
you say, is that he loves you. Is that a reason for using all your
powers to destroy him in body and mind?"
"Perhaps," answered Unorna calmly, though there was still a dangerous
light in her eyes.
"No. It is no reason," answered the Wanderer with a decision to which
Unorna was not accustomed. "Keyork tells me that the man is mad. He may
be. But he loves you and deserves mercy of you."
"Mercy!" exclaimed Unorna with a cruel laugh. "You heard what he
said--you were for silencing him yourself. You could not have done it. I
have--and most effectually."
"Whatever your art really may be, you use it badly and cruelly. A moment
ago I was blinded myself. If I had understood clearly while you were
speaking that you were making this poor fellow suffer in himself the
hideous agony you described I would have stopped you. You blinded me, as
you dominated him. But I am not blind now. You shall not torment him any
longer.
"And how would you have stopped me? How can you hinder me now?" asked
Unorna.
The Wanderer gazed at her in silence for some moments. There was an
expression in his face which she had never seen there. Towering above
her he looked down. The massive brows were drawn together, the eyes were
cold and impenetrable, every feature expressed strength.
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