And yet, he found it impossible to detect any inconsistency
in his own conduct. As he had been conscious of doing his utmost to save
Israel Kafka from her, so now he knew that he was doing all he could to
save Unorna from the Moravian, and he recognised the fact that no man
with the commonest feelings of humanity could have done less in either
case. But he was conscious, also, of a change in himself which he did
not attempt to analyse. His indolent, self-satisfied apathy was gone,
the strong interests of human life and death stirred him, mind and body
together acquired their activity and he was at all points once more
a man. He was ignorant, indeed, of what had been taken from him. The
memory of Beatrice was gone, and he fancied himself one who had never
loved woman. He looked back with horror and amazement upon the emptiness
of his past life, wondering how such an existence as he had led, or
fancied he had led, could have been possible.
But there was scant time for reflection upon the problem of his own
mission in the world as he hastened towards Unorna's house. His present
mission was clear enough and simple enough, though by no means easy of
accomplishment. What Israel Kafka had told him was very true. Should he
attempt a denunciation, he would have little chance of being believed.
It would be easy enough for Kafka to bring witnesses to prove his own
love for Unorna and the Wanderer's intimacy with her during the past
month, and the latter's consequent interest in disposing summarily of
his Moravian rival.
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