"
"By all that is Holy in Heaven, I will save him--he shall not even
remember--"
"Do not swear. I shall not believe you."
"You will believe when you see--you will forgive me--you will
understand."
Without answering he exerted his strength and clasping the insensible
man more firmly in his arms he made one or two steps forward. Unorna's
foot slipped on the frozen ground and she would have fallen to the
earth, but she clung to him with desperate energy. Seeing that she was
in danger of some bodily hurt if he used greater force, the Wanderer
stopped again, uncertain how to act; Unorna stood before him, panting a
little from the struggle, her face as white as death.
"Unless you kill me," she said, "you shall not take him away so. Hold
him in your arms, if you will, but let me speak to him."
"And how shall I know that you will not hurt him, you who hate him as
you do?"
"Am I not at your mercy?" asked Unorna. "If I deceive you, can you not
do what you will with me, even if I try to resist you, which I will not?
Hold me, if you choose, lest I should escape you, and if Israel Kafka
does not recover his strength and his consciousness, then take me with
you and deliver me up to justice as a witch--as a murderess, if you
will."
The Wanderer was silent for a moment. Then he realised that what she
said was true. She was in his power.
"Restore him if you can," he said.
Unorna laid her hands upon Kafka's forehead and bending down whispered
into his ear words which were inaudible even to the man who held
him.
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