“He has no fever,” said Keyork looking at the little instrument.  “I will call the Individual and we will take him away.”

“Where?”

“To his lodging, of course.  Where else?” He turned and went towards the door.

In a moment, Unorna was kneeling again by Kafka’s side, her hand upon his forehead, her lips close to his ear.

“This is the last time that I will use my power on you or upon any one,” she said quickly, for the time was short.  “Obey me, as you must.  Do you understand me?  Will you obey?”

“Yes,” came the faint answer as from very far off.

“You will wake two hours from now.  You will not forget all that has happened, but you will never love me again.  I forbid you ever to love me again!  Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“You will only forget that I have told you this, though you will obey.  You will see me again, and if you can forgive me of your own free will, forgive me then.  That must be of your own free will.  Wake in two hours of yourself, without pain or sickness.”

Again she touched his forehead and then sprang to her feet.  Keyork was coming back with his dumb servant.  At a sign, the Individual lifted Kafka from the floor, taking from him the Wanderer’s furs and wrapping him in others which Keyork had brought.  The strong man walked away with his burden as though he were carrying a child.  Keyork Arabian lingered a moment.

“What made you come back so early?” he asked.

“I will not tell you,” she answered, drawing back.

“No?  Well, I am not curious.  You have an excellent opportunity now.”

“An opportunity?” Unorna repeated with a cold interrogative.

“Excellent,” said the little man, standing on tiptoe to reach her ear, for she would not bend her head.  “You have only to whisper into his ear that you are Beatrice and he will believe you for the rest of his life.”

“Go!” said Unorna.

Though the word was not spoken above her breath it was fierce and commanding.  Keyork Arabian smiled in an evil way, shrugged his shoulders and left her.

CHAPTER XXIV

Unorna was left alone with the Wanderer.  His attitude did not change, his eyes did not open, as she stood before him.  Still he wore the look which had at first attracted Keyork Arabian’s attention and which had amazed Unorna herself.  It was the expression that had come into his face in the old cemetery when in his sleep she had spoken to him of love.

“He is dreaming of her,” Unorna said to herself again, as she turned sadly away.

But since Keyork had been with her a doubt had assailed her which painfully disturbed her thoughts, so that her brow contracted with anxiety and from time to time she drew a quick hard breath.  Keyork had taken it for granted that the Wanderer’s sleep was not natural.