“You have saved yourself,” said the solemn voice of the old man.

“Saved?” Keyork laughed.  “From me?” He laid his hand upon her arm.  Then his face changed again, and his laughter died dismally away, and he hung back.

“Can you forgive her?” asked the other voice.

The Wanderer stood close to them now, drawing Beatrice to his side.  The question was for them.

“Can you forgive me?” asked Unorna faintly, turning her eyes towards them.

“As we hope to find forgiveness and trust in a life to come,” they answered.

There was a low sound in the air, unearthly, muffled, desperate as of a strong being groaning in awful agony.  When they looked, they saw that Keyork Arabian was gone.

The dawn of a coming day rose in Unorna’s face as she sank back.

“It is over,” she sighed, as her eyes closed.

Her question was answered; her love had saved her.