“You shall bless this house before you leave it.  In this place, here where you stand, you shall find the happiness you have sought through all the years.”

“In Unorna?” the question was asked scornfully.

“By Unorna.”

“I do not believe you.  You are mad, as I am.  Would you play the prophet?”

The door opened in the distance, and from behind the screen of plants Keyork Arabian came forward into the hall, his small eyes bright, his ivory face set and expressionless, his long beard waving in the swing of his walk.  The Wanderer saw him first and called to him.

“Keyork—­come here!” he said.  “Who is this man?”

For a moment Keyork seemed speechless with amazement.  But it was anger that choked his words.  Then he came on quickly.

“Who waked him?” he cried in fury.  “What is this?  Why is he here?”

“Unorna waked me,” answered the ancient sleeper very calmly.

“Unorna?  Again?  The curse of The Three Black Angels on her!  Mad again?  Sleep, go back!  It is not ready yet, and you will die, and I shall lose it all—­all—­all!  Oh, she shall pay for this with her soul in hell!”

He threw himself upon the giant, in an insane frenzy, clasping his arms round the huge limbs and trying to force him backwards.

“Go! go!” he cried frantically.  “It may not be too late!  You may yet sleep and live!  Oh, my Experiment, my great Experiment!  All lost——­”

“What is this madness?” asked the Wanderer.  “You cannot carry him, and he will not go.  Let him alone.”

“Madness?” yelled Keyork, turning on him.  “You are the madman, you the fool, who cannot understand!  Help me to move him—­you are strong and young—­together we can take him back—­he may yet sleep and live—­he must and shall!  I say it!  Lay your hands on him—­you will not help me?  Then I will curse you till you do——­”

“Poor Keyork!” exclaimed the Wanderer, half pitying him.  “Your big thoughts have cracked your little brain at last.”

“Poor Keyork?  You call me poor Keyork?  You boy!  You puppet!  You ball, that we have bandied to and fro, half sleeping, half awake!  It drives me mad to see you standing there, scoffing instead of helping me!”

“You are past my help, I fear.”

“Will you not move?  Are you dead already, standing on your feet and staring at me?”

Again Keyork threw himself upon the huge old man, and stamped and struggled and tried to move him backwards.  He might as well have spent his strength against a rock.  Breathless but furious still, he desisted at last, too much beside himself to see that he whose sudden death he feared was stronger than he, because the great experiment had succeeded far beyond all hope.