“Then you do not,” said Keyork.  “You could only have seen him since you have been here.  He is one of Unorna’s most interesting patients, and mine as well.  He is a little odd.”

Keyork tapped his ivory forehead significantly with one finger.

“Mad,” suggested the Wanderer.

“Mad, if you prefer the term.  He has fixed ideas.  In the first place, he imagines that he has just been travelling with me in Italy, and is always talking of our experiences.  Humour him, if you meet him.  He is in danger of being worse if contradicted.”

“Am I likely to meet him?”

“Yes.  He is often here.  His other fixed idea is that he loves Unorna to distraction.  He has been dangerously ill during the last few weeks but is better now, and he may appear at any moment.  Humour him a little if he wearies you with his stories.  That is all I ask.  Both Unorna and I are interested in the case.”

“And does not Unorna care for him at all?” inquired the other indifferently.

“No, indeed.  On the contrary, she is annoyed at his insistance, but sees that it is a phase of insanity and hopes to cure it before long.”

“I see.  What is he like?  I suppose he is an Israelite.”

“From Moravia—­yes.  The wreck of a handsome boy,” said Keyork carelessly.  “This insanity is an enemy of good looks.  The nerves give way—­then the vitality—­the complexion goes—­men of five and twenty years look old under it.  But you will see for yourself before long.  Good-bye.  I will go in and see what is the matter with Unorna.”

They parted, the Wanderer continuing on his way along the street with the same calm, cold, peaceful expression which had elicited Keyork’s admiration, and Keyork himself going forward to Unorna’s door.  His face was very grave.  He entered the house by a small side door and ascended by a winding staircase directly to the room from which, an hour or two earlier, he had carried the still unconscious Israel Kafka.  Everything was as he had left it, and he was glad to be certified that Unorna had not disturbed the aged sleeper in his absence.  Instead of going to her at once he busied himself in making a few observations and in putting in order certain of his instruments and appliances.  Then at last he went and found Unorna.  She was walking up and down among the plants and he saw at a glance that something had happened.  Indeed the few words spoken by the Wanderer had suggested to him the possibility of a crisis, and he had purposely lingered in the inner apartment, in order to give her time to recover her self-possession.  She started slightly when he entered, and her brows contracted, but she immediately guessed from his expression that he was not in one of his aggressive moods.

“I have just rectified a mistake which might have had rather serious consequences,” he said, stopping before her and speaking earnestly and quietly.

“A mistake?”