For a long time Unorna was absorbed in her meditations.  Again and again the vision of a newer happiness took shape and colour before her, so clearly and vividly that she could have clasped it and held it and believed in its reality, as she had done before Israel Kafka had entered.  But there was a doubt now, which constantly arose between her and it, the dark and shapeless shadow of a reasoning she hated and yet knew to be strong.

“I must ask him,” she said unconsciously.

“You must ask him,” repeated Israel Kafka from his seat.

For the third time Unorna laughed aloud as she heard the echo of her own words.

“Whom shall I ask?” she inquired contemptuously, as she rose to her feet.

The dull, glassy eyes sought hers in painful perplexity, following her face as she moved.

“I do not know,” answered the powerless man.

Unorna came close to him and laid her hand upon his head.

“Sleep, until I wake you,” she said.

The eyelids drooped and closed at her command, and instantly the man’s breathing became heavy and regular.  Unorna’s full lips curled as she looked down at him.

“And you would be my master!” she exclaimed.

Then she turned and disappeared among the plants, leaving him alone.

CHAPTER V

Unorna passed through a corridor which was, indeed, only a long balcony covered in with arches and closed with windows against the outer air.  At the farther end three steps descended to a dark door, through the thickness of a massive wall, showing that at this point Unorna’s house had at some former time been joined with another building beyond, with which it thus formed one habitation.  Unorna paused, holding the key as though hesitating whether she should put it into the lock.  It was evident that much depended upon her decision, for her face expressed the anxiety she felt.  Once she turned away, as though to abandon her intention, hesitated, and then, with an impatient frown, opened the door and went in.  She passed through a small, well-lighted vestibule and entered the room beyond.

The apartment was furnished with luxury, but a stranger would have received an oddly disquieting impression of the whole at a first glance.  There was everything in the place which is considered necessary for a bedroom, and everything was perfect of its kind, spotless and dustless, and carefully arranged in order.  But almost everything was of an unusual and unfamiliar shape, as though designed for some especial reason to remain in equilibrium in any possible position, and to be moved from place to place with the smallest imaginable physical effort.  The carved bedstead was fitted with wheels which did not touch the ground, and levers so placed as to be within the reach of a person lying in it.  The tables were each supported at one end only by one strong column, fixed to a heavy