“Can you tell me nothing more of her?  Do you know her well?”

“She does not offer her help to every one.  You would have done well to accept it in the first instance.  You may not find her in the same humour again.”

“I had supposed from what you said of her that she made a profession of clairvoyance, or hypnotism, or mesmerism—­whatever may be the right term nowadays.”

“It matters very little,” answered Keyork, gravely.  “I used to wonder at Adam’s ingenuity in naming all living things, but I think he would have made but a poor figure in a tournament of modern terminologists.  No.  Unorna does not accept remuneration for her help when she vouchsafes to give it.”

“And yet I was introduced to her presence without even giving my name.”

“That is her fancy.  She will see any one who wishes to see her, beggar, gentleman, or prince.  But she only answers such questions as she pleases to answer.”

“That is to say, inquiries for which she is already prepared with a reply,” suggested the Wanderer.

“See for yourself.  At all events, she is a very interesting specimen.  I have never known any one like her.”

Keyork Arabian was silent, as though he were reflecting upon Unorna’s character and peculiar gifts, before describing them to his friend.  His ivory features softened almost imperceptibly, and his sharp blue eyes suddenly lost their light, as though they no longer saw the outer world.  But the Wanderer cared for none of these things, and bestowed no attention upon his companion’s face.  He preferred the little man’s silence to his wild talk, but he was determined, if possible, to extract some further information concerning Unorna, and before many seconds had elapsed he interrupted Keyork’s meditations with a question.

“You tell me to see for myself,” he said.  “I would like to know what I am to expect.  Will you not enlighten me?”

“What?” asked the other vaguely, as though roused from sleep.

“If I go to Unorna and ask a consultation of her, as though she were a common somnambulist, and if she deigns to place her powers at my disposal what sort of assistance shall I most probably get?”

They had been walking slowly forward, and Keyork again stopped, rapping the pavement with his iron-shod stick, and looking up from under his bushy, overhanging eyebrows.

“Of two things, one will happen,” he answered.  “Either she will herself fall into the abnormal state and will answer correctly any questions you put to her, or she will hypnotise you, and you will yourself see—­what you wish to see.”

“I myself?”

“You yourself.  The peculiarity of the woman is her duality, her double power.  She can, by an act of volition, become hypnotic, clairvoyant—­whatever you choose to call it.  Or, if her visitor is at all sensitive, she can reverse the situation and play the part of the hypnotiser.  I never heard of a like case.”