“It is of no use to talk in that way,” said Unorna, haughtily.  “I am not prepared to be deceived by your comedy this time.”

“Nor I to play one.  Since I have offended you, I ask your pardon.  Forgive the expression, for the sake of the meaning; the thoughtless word for the sake of the unworded thought.”

“How cleverly you turn and twist both thoughts and words!”

“Do not be so unkind, dear friend.”

“Unkind to you?  I wish I had the secret of some unkindness that you should feel!”

“The knowledge of what I can feel is mine alone,” answered Keyork, with a touch of sadness.  “I am not a happy man.  The world, for me, holds but one interest and one friendship.  Destroy the one, or embitter the other, and Keyork’s remnant of life becomes but a foretaste of death.”

“And that interest—­that friendship—­where are they?” asked Unorna in a tone still bitter, but less scornful than before.

“Together, in this room, and both in danger, the one through your young haste and impetuosity, the other through my wretched weakness in being made angry; forgive me, Unorna, as I ask forgiveness——­”

“Your repentance is too sudden; it savours of the death-bed.”

“Small wonder, when my life is in the balance.”

“Your life?” She uttered the question incredulously, but not without curiosity.

“My life—­and for your word,” he answered, earnestly.  He spoke so impressively, and in so solemn a tone, that Unorna’s face became grave.  She advanced another step towards him, and laid her hand upon the back of the chair in which she previously had sat.

“We must understand each other—­to-day or never,” she said.  “Either we must part and abandon the great experiment—­for, if we part, it must be abandoned—­”

“We cannot part, Unorna.”

“Then, if we are to be associates and companions—­”

“Friends,” said Keyork in a low voice.

“Friends?  Have you laid the foundation for a friendship between us?  You say that your life is in the balance.  That is a figure of speech, I suppose.  Or has your comedy another act?  I can believe well enough that your greatest interest in life lies there, upon that couch, asleep.  I know that you can do nothing without me, as you know it yourself.  But in your friendship I can never trust—­never!—­still less can I believe that any words of mine can affect your happiness, unless they be those you need for the experiment itself.  Those, at least, I have not refused to pronounce.”

While she was speaking, Keyork began to walk up and down the room, in evident agitation, twisting his fingers and bending down his head.