No doubt of that, he thought, as he walked briskly along the pavement and entered his own house.  In his great room he sat down by the table and fell into a long meditation upon the most immediate consequences of his success in the difficult undertaking he had so skilfully brought to a conclusion.  His eyes wandered about the room from one specimen to another, and from time to time a short, scornful laugh made his white beard quiver.  As he had said once to Unorna, the dead things reminded him of many failures; but he had never before been able to laugh at them and at the unsuccessful efforts they represented.  It was different to-day.  Without lifting his head he turned up his bright eyes, under the thick, finely-wrinkled lids, as though looking upward toward that Power against which he strove.  The glance was malignant and defiant, human and yet half-devilish.  Then he looked down again, and again fell into deep thought.

“And if it is to be so,” he said at last, rising suddenly and letting his open hand fall upon the table, “even then, I am provided.  She cannot free herself from that bargain, at all events.”

Then he wrapped his furs around him and went out again.  Scarce a hundred paces from Unorna’s door he met the Wanderer.  He looked up into the cold, calm face, and put out his hand, with a greeting.

“You look as though you were in a very peaceful frame of mind,” observed Keyork.

“Why should I be anything but peaceful?” asked the other, “I have nothing to disturb me.”

“True, true.  You possess a very fine organisation.  I envy you your magnificent constitution, my dear friend.  I would like to have some of it, and grow young again.”

“On your principle of embalming the living, I suppose.”

“Exactly,” answered the sage with a deep, rolling laugh.  “By the bye, have you been with our friend Unorna?  I suppose that is a legitimate question, though you always tell me I am tactless.”

“Perfectly legitimate, my dear Keyork.  Yes, I have just left her.  It is like a breath of spring morning to go there in these days.”

“You find it refreshing?”

“Yes.  There is something about her that I could describe as soothing, if I were aware of ever being irritable, which I am not.”

Keyork smiled and looked down, trying to dislodge a bit of ice from the pavement with the point of his stick.

“Soothing—­yes.  That is just the expression.  Not exactly the quality most young and beautiful women covet, eh?  But a good quality in its way, and at the right time.  How is she to-day?”

“She seemed to have a headache—­or she was oppressed by the heat.  Nothing serious, I fancy, but I came away, as I fancied I was tiring her.”

“Not likely,” observed Keyork.  “Do you know Israel Kafka?” he asked suddenly.

“Israel Kafka,” repeated the Wanderer thoughtfully, as though searching in his memory.