All her energy returned.  The colour came back to her face, her eyes sparkled, her strong white hands contracted and opened, and closed again, as though she would grasp something.  The room, too, had become warmer and she had forgotten to lay aside her furs.  She longed for more air and, rising, walked across the room.  It occurred to her that the great corridor would be deserted and as quiet as her own apartment, and she went out and began to pace the stone flags, her head high, looking straight before her.

She wished that she had him there now, and she was angry at the thought that she had not seen earlier how easily it could all be done.  However strong he might be, having twice been under her influence before he could not escape it again.  In those moments when they had stood together before the great dark buildings of the Clementinum, it might all have been accomplished; and now, she must wait until the morning.  But her mind was determined.  It mattered not how, it mattered not in what state, he should be hers.  No one would know what she had done.  It was nothing to her that he would be wholly unconscious of his past life—­had she not already made him forget the most important part of it?  He would still be himself, and yet he would love her, and speak lovingly to her, and act as she would have him act.  Everything could be done, and she would risk nothing, for she would marry him and make him her lawful husband, and they would spend their lives together, in peace, in the house wherein she had so abased herself before him, foolishly believing that, as a mere woman, she could win him.

She paced the corridor, passing and repassing beneath the light of the single lamp that hung in the middle, walking quickly, with a sensation of pleasure in the movement and in the cold draught that fanned her cheek.

Then she heard footsteps distinct from the echo of her own and she stood still.  Two women were coming towards her through the gloom.  She waited near her own door, supposing that they would pass her.  As they came near, she saw that the one was a nun, habited in the plain gray robe and black and white head-dress of the order.  The other was a lady dressed, like herself, in black.  The light burned so badly that as the two stopped and stood for a moment conversing together, Unorna could not clearly distinguish their faces.  Then the lady entered one of the rooms, the third or the fourth from Unorna’s, and the nun remained standing outside, apparently hesitating whether to turn to the right or to the left, or asking herself in which direction her occupations called her.  Unorna made a movement, and at the sound of her foot the nun came towards her.

“Sister Paul!” Unorna exclaimed, recognising her as her face came under the glare of the lamp, and holding out her hands.

“Unorna!” cried the nun, with an intonation of surprise and pleasure.  “I did not know that you were here.  What brings you back to us?”