“Good Heavens!  Keyork,” interrupted the Wanderer.  “Are you mad?  What is the matter with you?”

“Mad?  The matter?  I love you!  I worship you!  I adore you!  You have saved her life, and you have saved mine; you have almost killed me with fright and joy in two moments, you have—­”

“Be sensible, Keyork.  Unorna is quite safe, but we must do something about Kafka and—­”

The rest of his speech was drowned in another shout from the gnome, ending in a portentous peal of laughter.  He had taken his glass again and was toasting himself.

“To Keyork, to his long life, to his happiness!” he cried.  Then he wet his lips again in the golden juice, and the Individual, unmoved, presented him with a second napkin.

The wine seemed to steady him, and he sat down again in his place.

“Come!” he said.  “Let us eat first.  I have an amazing appetite, and Israel Kafka can wait.”

“Do you think so?  Is it safe?” the Wanderer asked.

“Perfectly,” returned Keyork, growing quite calm again.  “The locks are very good on those doors.  I saw to them myself.”

“But some one else—­”

“There is no some one else,” interrupted the sage sharply.  “Only three persons can enter the house without question—­you, I, and Kafka.  You and I are here, and Kafka is there already.  When we have eaten we will go to him, and I flatter myself that the last state of the young man will be so immeasurably worse than the first, that he will not recognise himself when I have done with him.”

He had helped his friend and began eating.  Somewhat reassured the Wanderer followed his example.  Under the circumstances it was as well to take advantage of the opportunity for refreshment.  No one could tell what might happen before morning.

“It just occurs to me,” said Keyork, fixing his keen eyes on his companion’s face, “that you have told me absolutely nothing, except that Kafka is mad and that Unorna is safe.”

“Those are the most important points,” observed the Wanderer.

“Precisely.  But I am sure that you will not think me indiscreet if I wish to know a little more.  For instance, what was the immediate cause of Kafka’s extremely theatrical and unreasonable rage?  That would interest me very much.  Of course, he is mad, poor boy!  But I take delight in following out the workings of an insane intellect.  Now there are no phases of insanity more curious than those in which the patient is possessed with a desire to destroy what he loves best.  These cases are especially worthy of study because they happen so often in our day.”

The Wanderer saw that some explanation was necessary and he determined to give one in as few words as possible.