San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-12-28

and stared dreamily at the glass roof.
And | will said the faint, weak
voice, as though completing sem
tence.
Il think not" observed Keyork, as
though answering. The people who
do what they they mean to do are not
always talking about will But
Kafka had closed his eyes again.
Tn time, however, his breathing
was apparent and he was evidently
returning to a cons cious state.
do you think we can take him
home to-night?' inquired the Wan
derer.
Il think not " he replied. There
is nothing to be done but to keep him
quiet. Good night. am tired of all
this nonsense, and do not mean to
lose my nights rest for all the Israels
in Jewry-or all the Jews in Israel.
You can stay with him if you please"
He did not dare to take upon him
self the responsibility of calling some
one to help him and of removing the
Moravian in his present condition.
The man was still very weak and
either altogether unconscious or Sleep
ing the sleep of exhaustion. The
weather, too, was bitterly cold ana
the exposure to the night air might
bring on Immediate and fatal conse-
quences. He examined Kafka closely
and came TO he conclusion that he
was really asleep. To wake him
would be absolutely cruel as well as
dangerous lie looked kindly at the
weary face and then began to walk up
and down between the plants, coming
back at the end of every turn
to look again and assure himself that
no change had taken place.
Keyork' S precautions were in reality
useless, ana they merely illustrate tho
ruthlessly selfish character of the man.
The Wanderer would in all probability
neither have attempted to leave the
house with Kafka that night nor to
communicate with the servants. even
and if no one had disturbed him in his
watch. He was disturbed, however,
and very unexpectedly, between $50
and l 40 IN the morning.
More than once he had remained
seated for long time, but his eyes
were growing heavy and he reused
himself and walked again until he was
thoroughly awake.
When the door was suddenly opened
he stood still in his walk and faced it.
He hardly recognized UnOrna in the
pale, disheveled woman with circled
eyes who came toward him under the
bright light. She, too, stood still when
she saw him, starting suddenly. She
seemed to be very cold, for she shiv-
cred visibly and her teeth were chat
tering. Without the least prote ction
against the bitter night-air she had
fed, bareheaded and cloakiess,
through the open streets from the
church to her home.
You here!" she exclaimed, in an
unsteady voice.
Yes, | am still here" answered
the Wanderer. But | hardly ex-
pected you to come back tonight" he
added.
And Israel Kafka?" she asked, al
most timidly.
He Is there-asleep."
He is very ill.," she said, almost
under her breath. Tell me what
has happened?"
1t was like dream to her, The
tremendous excitement of what had
honnnnnA in Tho hol 80 I,
off from the realization of what had
gone before.
As the new development of the sit
uation presented itself the color
again rose to her cheeks. The
warmth OF the conservatory, too, dis
PEELED the chill that had penetrated
her, and the familiar odors of the
flowers contributed to restore the lost
equilibrium of mind and body.
q" ell me what hts happened" she
said again.
Auu Tor what reason do you sup
pose that Keyork shut you IMP" she
asked.
II do not know" the Wanderer an
swered. Il do not trust him, though
| have known him so long"
1t was mere selfishness," said
Unorna. scornfully. Il know him
better than you do. He was afraid
you would disturb him again in the
night"
The Wanderer said nothing, Won
dering how any man could be so
deliberately thoughtful of his own
comfort.
There is no help for it." .Unorna
said, 1--WE must watch together"
Il see no other way" the Wan
derer answered. indifferentlY.