“What have you done, Unorna?  What have you done?” she asked very sadly.

But Unorna did not answer.  She only looked at the nun more fixedly and savagely.  She felt that she might as well have looked upon some ancient picture of a saint in heaven, and bid it close its eyes.  But she would not give up the attempt, for her only safety lay in its success.  For a long time Sister Paul returned her gaze steadily.

“Sleep!” said Unorna, putting up her hand.  “Sleep, I command you!”

But Sister Paul’s eyes did not waver.  A sad smile played for a moment upon her waxen features.

“You have no power over me—­for your power is not of good,” she said, slowly and softly.

Then she quietly turned to Beatrice, and took her hand.

“Come with me, my daughter,” she said.  “I have a light and will take you to a place where you will be safe.  She will not trouble you any more to-night.  Say a prayer, my child, and do not be afraid.”

“I am not afraid,” said Beatrice.  “But where is she?” she asked suddenly.

Unorna had glided away while they were speaking.  Sister Paul held the lamp high and looked in all directions.  Then she heard the heavy door of the sacristy swing upon its hinges and strike with a soft thud against the small leathern cushion.  Both women followed her, but as they opened the door again a blast of cold air almost extinguished the lamp.  The night wind was blowing in from the street.

“She is gone out,” said Sister Paul.  “Alone and at this hour—­Heaven help her!” It was as she said, Unorna had escaped.

CHAPTER XXI

After leaving Unorna at the convent, the Wanderer had not hesitated as to the course he should pursue.  It was quite clear that the only person to whom he could apply at the present juncture was Keyork Arabian.  Had he been at liberty to act in the most natural and simple way, he would have applied to the authorities for a sufficient force with which to take Israel Kafka into custody as a dangerous lunatic.  He was well aware, however, that such a proceeding must lead to an inquiry of a more or less public nature, of which the consequences might be serious, or at least extremely annoying, to Unorna.  Of the inconvenience to which he might himself be exposed, he would have taken little account, though his position would have been as difficult to explain as any situation could be.  The important point was to prevent the possibility of Unorna’s name being connected with an open scandal.  Every present circumstance in the case was directly or indirectly the result of Unorna’s unreasoning passion for himself, and it was clearly his duty, as a man of honour, to shield her from the consequences of her own acts, as far as lay in his power.