San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-12-14
SuTHoR FIR lSAAcS." 3.

sign of fear, is death. The moment
is supreme, and he knows it.
Unorna grasped the arms of her
chair, as though seeking her physical
support in her extremity. Between
her and her mistake the image of
! what should be stood out, bright, vivid
and strong. A new conviction had
taken the place of the old, real
passion was flaming upon the altar
whereon she had fed with dreams the
sem blance of a sacred fire.
You do not really love me-" she
said softly.
Israel Kafka started, as a man who
is struck unawares. The monstrous
untruth which flied the words broke
down his guard, sudden tears yelled
the penetrating sharpness of his gaze
and his hand trembled.
Il do not love you? 1! Unorna-
Unorna!'
The first word broke from him in a
cry of horror and stupefaction. But
her name, when ne spoke it. sounded
as the death moan of a young wilS an
imal wounded beyond all power to
turn at bay.
She knew that the struggle was over
and that she had gained the mastery,
though the price of victory might be
broken heart.
You thought l was jesting," she
said in low voice. But there was
no Jest in what [ said-nor any I'M
kindness in what | meant, though it
is all my fault. But that is true-yoI
never loved me as / would be loved"
"Un2rna-"
MO- am not unkind. Your love
is young, fierce, inconstant; half ter
rible half boyish; ready to turn into
hatred at one moment, to melt into
tears at the next"
1t pleased you once" said Israel
Kafka in broken tones. 1t is not less
love because you are weary of it, and
Of me"
Weary, You say? No, not weary
and very truly not of you. You will
believe that today, tomorrow you will
stiit try to force life into your belief
and then it will be dead and gone
like all thoughts which have never
entered into the shapes Of reality. We
have not loved each other. We have
but fancied that It would be sweet to
love, and the knife of truth has parted
the web Of our dreams, keenly, in tho
midst, so that We see bsfore US what
is, though the ghost of what might
have been is yet lingering near"
"Who wOve that web, Unorna?
You or I?' He lifted his heavy eyes
and gazed at her coiled hair.
What matters it whether it was
your doing or mineP But we wove it
together-and together we must see
the truth"
IF this is true, there is no more
together for you and me-"
I'VE may yet CLEAN friendship in
the fields where love has grown"
''Friendship--the very word is a
wound! Friendship-the very dregs
and lees of the wine of life! Friend
ship-the sour DRAWINGS of the hearts
cup, left to moisten the lips of the
damned when the blessed have drunk
their fill. | hate the word, as | hate
the thought"
Unorna sighed, partly, perhaps,
that he might hear the sigh and put
upon it an Interpretation soothing to
his vanity, but partly, too, from sin
cere regret that he should need to SUI
fer as he was evidently suffering. She
had half believed that she loved him,
and she owed him pity. Women's
hearts pay such debts unwillingly,
but they pay them, nevertheless.
Il am sorry" said Uuorua. You
will not understand"
81 have understood enough have
understood that woman can have
two faces, and two hearts, two minds.
two soulS-it is enough, my under
standing need go no further. You
sighed before you spoke. 1t was not
for met was for yourself. You
never felt pain or sorrow for an
other"
He was trying to grow cold and to
find cold words to say, which might
lead her to believe him stronger than
he was and able to master his grief.
But he was too young. too hot, too
changeabie for such part.
You are wrong, Israel Kafka. You
would make me less than human. If
| had promised, if | had said one
woodland yet, you are right, too, for
| have let you think in earnest what |
has been but passing dream of my
own thoughts. 1t was all wrong, it
was all my fault-there, lay your
hand in mine and say that you r.
give, as ask forgiveness.