"
"Then let me come myself--I am perfectly well--"
"Hush--no!" she answered hurriedly. "Do as I say--it will be best for
you--and for me. Good-bye."
"Your word is my law," said Kafka, drawing back. His eyes were bright
and his thin cheek was flushed. It was long since she had spoken so
kindly to him. A ray of hope entered his life.
The Wanderer saw the look and interpreted it rightly. He understood
that in that brief moment Unorna had found time to do some mischief. Her
carriage drove on, and left the two men free to enter the one intended
for them. Kafka gave the driver the address of his lodgings. Then
he sank back into the corner, exhausted and conscious of his extreme
weakness. A short silence followed.
"You are in need of rest," said the Wanderer, watching him curiously.
"Indeed, I am very tired, if not actually ill."
"You have suffered enough to tire the strongest."
"In what way?" asked Kafka. "I have forgotten what happened. I know that
I followed Unorna to the cemetery. I had been to her house, and I saw
you afterwards together. I had not spoken to her since I came back from
my long journey this morning. Tell me what occurred. Did she make me
sleep? I feel as I have felt before when I have fancied that she has
hypnotised me."
The Wanderer looked at him in surprise. The question was asked as
naturally as though it referred to an everyday occurrence of little or
no weight.
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