The Fort Worth gazette. (Fort Worth, Tex.) 1891-189?, 1891-05-21

More than once he had remained seated
for a long time. but his eyes We're growing
heavy, and he reused himself and walked
again until he was thoroughly awake. 1t
was certainly true that of all the persons
concerned in the events of the day, except
keyork he had Undergone the least bodily
fatigue and mental excitement. But even
to the strongest, the hours of the night
spent in watching by sick person seem
endless, when there is not really strong per
sonal anxiety left. He was undoubtedly in
terested in Kafka's fate, and was resolved
to protect him, as well as to hinder hlm
from committing any act of folly.
But he hadonly met him for
the first time that very afternoon,
and under circumstances which had not III
the first instance suggested even the posi-
h5fitu eff friendship between the two. His
position toward Israel kafka was alto
gether unexpected and what he felt was
no more than pity for his Sufferings, and
indignation against those who had caused
them.
When the door was suddenly opened he
stood still in his walk and faced it. He
hardly recognized Unorna in the pale, dis
heveled woman with circled eyes, who came
towards him under the bright light. She,
too, stood still when she saw him, starting
suddenly. She seemed to be very cold, for
she Shivered visibly, and her teeth were
chattering. Without the least protection
against the bitter night air, she had fled
bareheaded and cloakesS through the open
streets from the church to her home.
"You here!' she exclaimed III an unsteady
voice.
Eyes, am still here, ;" answered the Wan
derer But hardly expected you to come
back tonight he added.
At the sound of his voice strange smile
came into her wan face and fingered there.
She had not thought to hear him speak
again, kindly or unkindly, for she had come
with the fixed determination to meet her
death at Israel Kafka's hands, and TO let
that be the end Amid all the wild thoughts
that had whirled through her brain as she
ran home in the dark, that one had not once
changed.
And Isreal Kafka?" she asked, almost
timidly.
He is there-asleep.
Unorna came forward and the Wanderer
showed her where the man lay upon thick
carpet, wrapped in furs, his pale head sup
ported by cushion.
He is very ILL she said, almost under
her breath Tell me what has happened"
1t was like dream to her. The tremen-
dous excitement of what had happened in
the convent had cut her off from the reali-
zation of what had gone before. Strange
as it seemed even to herself, she scarcely
comprehended the intimate connection be-
tween the two series of events, nor the
bearing of the one upon the other. Israel
Kafka sank into such inSignihcance that
she began to pity his condition, and it was
hard to remember that the Wanderer was
the man whom Beatrice had loved, and of
whom she had spoken so long and so pas
sionately. She found, too, an unreasoned
Joy in being once more by his side, no mat
ter under what conditions. In that happi-
ness, one-sided and unshared, she forgot
everything else.
Beatrice had been dream, 4 vision. an
unreal shadow. Kafka was nothing to her,
and vet everything, as she suddenly saw,
since ne constituted a bond between her
and the man she loved, which would at
least outlast the night In fash she saw
that the Wanderer would not leave her
alone with the Moravian, and that the lat
ter could not be moved for the present
without danger to his life. They must
watch together by his side through the
long hours. Who could tell what the night
would bring forth9
As the new development of the situation
presented itself, the color rose again to her
cheeks. The warmth of the conservatory,
too dispelled the chill that had penetrated
her. and the familiar odors of the flowers
contributed 10 restore the lost equilibrium
of mind and body.
Tell me what has happened" she said
again.
erer told her all that had occurred up to the
moment of her coming, not emitting the de-
tail of the locked door.
And for what reason do you suppose
that Keyerk shut YOU inl'' she asked.
II do not know the Wanderer answered.
81 do not trust him, though l have known
him so long,
sIt was mere selfshness," said Unorna,
scornfully. ~ know him better than you