“If you are sufficiently rested,” he said with a touch of sarcasm which he could not restrain, “I would suggest that we do not wait any longer here.”

She turned and faced him, and he saw now how very white she was.

“So you think that even now I have been deceiving you?  That is what you think.  I see it in your face.”

Before he could prevent her she had opened the door wide again and was advancing calmly into the conservatory.

“Israel Kafka!” she cried in loud clear tones.  “I am here—­I am waiting—­come!”

The Wanderer ran forward.  He caught sight in the distance of a pair of fiery eyes and of something long and thin and sharp-gleaming under the soft lamps.  He knew then that all was deadly earnest.  Swift as thought he caught Unorna and bore her from the hall, locking the door again and setting his broad shoulders against it, as he put her down.  The daring act she had done appealed to him, in spite of himself.

“I beg your pardon,” he said almost deferentially.  “I misjudged you.”

“It is that,” she answered.  “Either I will be with you or I will die, by his hand, by yours, by my own—­it will matter little when it is done.  You need not lean against the door.  It is very strong.  Your furs are hanging there, and here are mine.  Let us be going.”

Quietly, as though nothing unusual had happened, they descended the stairs together.  The porter came forward with all due ceremony, to open the shut door.  Unorna told him that if Keyork Arabian came while she was out, he was to be shown directly into the conservatory.  A moment later she and her companion were standing together in the small irregular square before the Clementinum.

“Where will you go?” asked the Wanderer.

“With you,” she answered, laying her hand upon his arm and looking into his face as though waiting to see what direction he would choose.  “Unless you send me back to him,” she added, glancing quickly at the house and making as though she would withdraw her hand once more.  “If it is to be that, I will go alone.”

There seemed to be no way out of the terrible dilemma, and the Wanderer stood still in deep thought.  He knew that if he could but free himself from her for half an hour, he could get help from the right quarter and take Israel Kafka red-handed and armed as he was.  For the man was caught as in a trap and must stay there until he was released, and there would be little doubt from his manner, when taken, that he was either mad or consciously attempting some crime.  There was no longer any necessity, he thought, for Unorna to take refuge anywhere for more than an hour.  In that time Israel Kafka would be in safe custody, and she could re-enter her house with nothing to fear.  But he counted without Unorna’s unyielding obstinacy.  She threatened if he left her for a moment to go back to Israel Kafka.  A few minutes earlier she had carried out her threat and the consequence had been almost fatal.