"
The calm bearing and speech of the experienced man of the world carried
weight with it in the eyes of the young Moravian, whose hot blood knew
little of restraint and less of caution; with the keen instinct of
his race in the reading of character he suddenly understood that his
companion was at once generous and disinterested. A burst of confidence
followed close upon the conviction.
"If I am to lose her love, I would rather lose my life also, and by her
hand," he said hotly. "You are warning me against her. I feel that you
are honest and I see that you are in earnest. I thank you. If I am in
danger, do not try to save me. I saw her face a few moments ago, and she
spoke to me. I cannot believe that she is plotting my destruction."
The Wanderer was silent. He wondered whether it was his duty to do
or say more. Unorna was a changeable woman. She might love the man
to-morrow. But Israel Kafka was too young to let the conversation drop.
Boy-like he expected confidence for confidence, and was surprised at his
companion's taciturnity.
"What did she say to me when I was asleep?" he asked, after a short
pause.
"Did you ever hear the story of Simon Abeles?" the Wanderer inquired by
way of answer.
Kafka frowned and looked round sharply.
"Simon Abeles? He was a renegade Hebrew boy. His father killed him.
He is buried in the Teyn Kirche. What of him? What has he to do with
Unorna, or with me? I am myself a Jew.
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