There was no answer.  The lips did not part, there was not even the attempt to speak.  She had been sure that the one word would be spoken unhesitatingly, and the silence startled her and brought back the doubt which she had half forgotten.

“You must answer my question.  I command you to answer me.  Is it he?”

“You must tell me more before I can answer.”

The words came in a feeble piping voice, strangely out of keeping with the colossal frame and imposing features.

Unorna’s face was clouded, and the ready gleam of anger flashed in her eyes as it ever did at the smallest opposition to her will.

“Can you not see him?” she asked impatiently.

“I cannot see him unless you lead me to him and tell me where he is.”

“Where are you?”

“In your mind.”

“And what are you?”

“I am the image in your eyes.”

“There is another man in my mind,” said Unorna.  “I command you to see him.”

“I see him.  He is tall, pale, noble, suffering.  You love him.”

“Is it he who shall be my life and my death?  Is it he who shall love me as other women are not loved?”

The weak voice was still for a moment, and the face seemed covered with a veil of perplexity.

“I see with your eyes,” said the old man at last.

“And I command you to see into the future with your own!” cried Unorna, concentrating her terrible will as she grew more impatient.

There was an evident struggle in the giant’s mind, an effort to obey which failed to break down an obstacle.  She bent over him eagerly and her whole consciousness was centered in the words she desired him to speak.

Suddenly the features relaxed into an expression of rest and satisfaction.  There was something unearthly in the sudden smile that flickered over the old waxen face—­it was as strange and unnatural as though the cold marble effigy upon a sepulchre had laughed aloud in the gloom of an empty church.

“I see.  He will love you,” said the tremulous tones.

“Then it is he?”

“It is he.”

With a suppressed cry of triumph Unorna lifted her head and stood upright.  Then she started violently and grew very pale.

“You have probably killed him and spoiled everything,” said a rich bass voice at her elbow—­the very sub-bass of all possible voices.

Keyork Arabian was beside her.  In her intense excitement she had not heard him enter the room, and he had surprised her at once in the breaking of their joint convention and in the revelation of her secret.  If Unorna could be said to know the meaning of the word fear in any degree whatsoever, it was in relation to Keyork Arabian, the man who during the last few years had been her helper and associate in the great experiment.  Of all men she had known in her life, he was the only one whom she felt to be beyond the influence of her powers, the only one whom she felt