needs not be constantly struggling against terrible odds in the most difficult situations in order to be sure of its own solidity, nor must the deep intellect be ever plodding through the mazes of intricate theories and problems that it may feel itself superior to minds of less compass.  There is much natural inborn strength of body and mind in the world, and on the whole those who possess either accomplish more than those in whom either is the result of long and well-regulated training.

The belief in a great cruelty and a greater injustice roused the man who throughout so many days had lived in calm indifference to every aspect of the humanity around him.  Seeing that Israel Kafka could not be immediately restored to consciousness, he rose to his feet again and stood between the prostrate victim and Unorna.

“You are killing this man instead of saving him,” he said.  “His crime, you say, is that he loves you.  Is that a reason for using all your powers to destroy him in body and mind?”

“Perhaps,” answered Unorna calmly, though there was still a dangerous light in her eyes.

“No.  It is no reason,” answered the Wanderer with a decision to which Unorna was not accustomed.  “Keyork tells me that the man is mad.  He may be.  But he loves you and deserves mercy of you.”

“Mercy!” exclaimed Unorna with a cruel laugh.  “You heard what he said—­you were for silencing him yourself.  You could not have done it.  I have—­and most effectually.”

“Whatever your art really may be, you use it badly and cruelly.  A moment ago I was blinded myself.  If I had understood clearly while you were speaking that you were making this poor fellow suffer in himself the hideous agony you described I would have stopped you.  You blinded me, as you dominated him.  But I am not blind now.  You shall not torment him any longer.

“And how would you have stopped me?  How can you hinder me now?” asked Unorna.

The Wanderer gazed at her in silence for some moments.  There was an expression in his face which she had never seen there.  Towering above her he looked down.  The massive brows were drawn together, the eyes were cold and impenetrable, every feature expressed strength.

“By force, if need be,” he answered very quietly.

The woman before him was not of those who fear or yield.  She met his glance boldly.  Scarcely half an hour earlier she had been able to steal away his senses and make him subject to her.  She was ready to renew the contest, though she realised that a change had taken place in him.

“You talk of force to a woman!” she exclaimed, contemptuously.  “You are indeed brave!”

“You are not a woman.  You are the incarnation of cruelty.  I have seen it.”

His eyes were cold and his voice was stern.  Unorna felt a very sharp pain and shivered as though she were cold.  Whatever else was bad and cruel and untrue in her wild nature, her love for him was true and passionate and enduring.  And she loved him the more for the strength he was beginning to show, and for his determined opposition.  The words he had spoken had hurt her as he little guessed they could, not knowing that he alone of men had power to wound her.