“The vulgarity of the designation is indeed only equalled by that of your taste in selecting it,” he said slowly.  Then he turned away, intending to leave Keyork standing where he was.

But the little man had already repented of his speech.  He ran quickly to his friend’s side and laid one hand upon his arm.  The Wanderer paused and again looked down.

“Is it of any use to be offended with my speeches?  Am I an acquaintance of yesterday?  Do you imagine that it could ever be my intention to annoy you?” the questions were asked rapidly in tones of genuine anxiety.

“Indeed, I hardly know how I could suppose that.  You have always been friendly—­but I confess—­your names for things are not—­always——­”

The Wanderer did not complete the sentence, but looked gravely at Keyork as though wishing to convey very clearly again what he had before expressed in words.

“If we were fellow-countrymen and had our native language in common, we should not so easily misunderstand one another,” replied the other.  “Come, forgive my lack of skill, and do not let us quarrel.  Perhaps I can help you.  You may know Prague well, but I know it better.  Will you allow me to say that I know also whom it is you are seeking here?”

“Yes.  You know.  I have not changed since we last met, nor have circumstances favoured me.”

“Tell me—­have you really seen this Unorna, and talked with her?”

“This morning.”

“And she could not help you?”

“I refused to accept her help, until I had done all that was in my own power to do.”

“You were rash.  And have you now done all, and failed?”

“I have.”

“Then, if you will accept a humble suggestion from me, you will go back to her at once.”

“I know very little of her.  I do not altogether trust her—­”

“Trust!  Powers of Eblis—­or any other powers!  Who talks of trust?  Does the wise man trust himself?  Never.  Then how can he dare trust any one else?”

“Your cynical philosophy again!” exclaimed the Wanderer.

“Philosophy?  I am a mysosophist!  All wisdom is vanity, and I hate it!  Autology is my study, autosophy my ambition, autonomy my pride.  I am the great Panegoist, the would-be Conservator of Self, the inspired prophet of the Universal I. I—­I—­I!  My creed has but one word, and that word but one letter, that letter represents Unity, and Unity is Strength.  I am I, one, indivisible, central!  O I!  Hail and live for ever!”

Again the little man’s rich bass voice rang out in mellow laughter.  A very faint smile appeared upon his companion’s sad face.

“You are happy, Keyork,” he said.  “You must be, since you can laugh at yourself so honestly.”

“At myself?  Vain man!  I am laughing at you, and at every one else, at everything except myself.  Will you go to Unorna?  You need not trust her any more than the natural infirmity of your judgment suggests.”