“I heard some one come in below,” he said, hurriedly.  “It must be he.  Decide quickly what to do.  Either stay or fly—­you have not ten seconds for your choice.”

She turned her imploring eyes to his.

“Let me stay here and end it all—­”

“That you shall not!” he exclaimed, dragging her towards the end of the hall opposite to the usual entrance, and where he knew that there must be a door behind the screen of plants.  His hold tightened upon her yielding waist.  Her head fell back and her full lips parted in an ecstasy of delight as she felt herself hurried along in his arms, scarcely touching the floor with her feet.

“Ah—­now—­now!  Let it come now!” she sighed.

“It must be now—­or never,” he said almost roughly.  “If you will leave this house with me now, very well.  But leave this room you shall.  If I am to meet that man and stop him, I will meet him alone.”

“Leave you alone?  Ah no—­not that——­”

They had reached the exit now.  At the same instant both heard some one enter at the other end and rapid footsteps on the marble pavement.

“Which is it to be?” asked the Wanderer, pale and calm.  He had pushed her through before him and seemed ready to go back alone.

With violent strength she drew him to her, closed the door and slipped the strong steel bolt across below the lock.  There was a dim light in the passage.

“Together, then,” she said.  “I shall at least be with you—­a little longer.”

“Is there another way out of the house?” asked the Wanderer anxiously.

“More than one.  Come with me.”

As they disappeared in the corridor, they heard behind them the noise of the door-lock as some one tried to force it open.  Then a heavy sound as though a man’s shoulder struck against the solid panel.  Unorna led the way through a narrow, winding passage, illuminated here and there by small lamps with shades of soft colours, blown in Bohemian glass.

Pushing aside a curtain they came out into a small room.  The Wanderer uttered an involuntary exclamation of surprise as he recognised the vestibule and saw before him the door of the great conservatory, open as Israel Kafka had left it.  That the latter was still trying to pursue them through the opposite exit was clear enough, for the blows he was striking on the panel echoed loudly out into the hall.  Swiftly and silently Unorna closed the entrance and locked it securely.

“He is safe for a little while,” she said.  “Keyork will find him there when he comes, an hour hence, and Keyork will perhaps bring him to his senses.”

She had regained control of herself, to all appearances, and she spoke with perfect calm and self-possession.  The Wanderer looked at her in surprise and with some suspicion.  Her hair was all falling about her shoulders, but saving this sign, there was no trace of the recent storm, nor the least indication of passion.  If she had been acting a part throughout before an audience, she would have seemed less indifferent when the curtain fell.  The Wanderer, having little cause to trust her, found it hard to believe that she had not been counterfeiting.  It seemed impossible that she should be the same woman who but a moment earlier had been dragging herself at his feet, in wild tears and wilder protestations of her love.