San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1891-12-29
c. NI'DKIs- q RcMaN SINGER sic

hfs mad be1fs7 in me and KeyorK
Arabian for the rest-but do not
blame yourself-oh, no! Not THAR
.'Do not talk like that, Unorna,"
he said. BE just first"
II am no theOlogian. he said, "but
fancy that in the long reckoning the
intention goes for more than the act"
The intention!" she cried, looking
back with a start. If that be true
With shudder she buried her face
in her two hands, pressing them to
her eyes as though to blind them to
some awful sight Then, with short
struggle. she turned to him again.
There is no forgiveness for me in
heaven" she said Shall there be
you to me.
There is no question of forgive
ness between you and me. You
have not injured me, but Israel KAT
ka Judge for yourself which of us
two he or |. has anything to forgive.
! am to-day what | was yesterday and
may be tomorrow. He lies there
dying of his love for you, If ever
man died for love. And as though
that were not enough you have tor
tured him-well, [ will not speak Of
it. But that is all, | know nothing
of the deeds or intentions Of which
you accuse yourself. You are tired,
| overweight, worn out with all this
what shall | sayp 1t is natural
enough, suppose"
You say there is no question OF
forgiveness" she said, interrupting
him, but speaking more calmly.
What is it. Them"
Il wish that the thing had not been
done. / wish that | had not seen
what saw to-day. We should be
where we were this morning-aud he
perhaps would not be here"
1T must have come some day"
Unorna said. He must have seen
that | loved--that | loved you. Is
there any use in not speaking plainly
nowP How poor it sounds, now that
/ have said it! You do not even be-
lieve me-"
You are wrong. know that you
are III tdruesL'
How do you know'' she asked,
bitterly. Have | neve- lied to you.
If you believe me you would forgive
me.
Il have nothing to forgive" the
Wanderer said, almost YEARLY. al
have told you you have not injured
me- but him"
But it meant u whole world to
memo. for am nothing to you-but
if it cost you nothing, bit the little
breath that can carry the three words
would you say it1 Is it much TO
sayP Is it like saying, love you, or
bononr you, respect you? 1t is SO
little. and would mean so much"
TO me it can mean nothing, unless
you ask me to forgive you deeds OF
which know nothing. And then it
meal still less to me-"
Will you say it-only say the three
words onceP'
IL forgive you" said the Wanderer
quietly. It cost him nothing, and, to
him, medCt less.
Unorpu bent ner head and was ST.
lent was something to have heard
him say it, though be could not guess
the least of the sins which she had
made it include.
1T was good of you to say it," she
said at last.
A long silence followed, during
VIII "a the thoughts OF each went their
own way. Suddenly Israel Kafka
stirred in his sleep. The Wanderer
went quickly forward and knelt down
beside him and arranged the silken
pillow as best he could.
When Unorna looked up at last shs
saw that the Wanderer was asleep
At first she was surprised, in spite OF
what she had said to him half an hour
earlier, for she herself could not have
closed her eyes, aud felt that she
could never close them again. Then
she sighed. 1t was but one proof
more of his supreme indifference. He
had not even cared TO speak to her,
and II she had not constantly spoken
TO him throughout the hours they had
passed together he would perhaps
have been sleeping long before now.
She bent down as she stood and
touched his cool forehead with her
lips.
.'Sleep on, my beloved" she said.
in voice that murmured softly and
sadly.
She started little at what she had
done, and drew back, half afraid, like
IN innocent girl. But as though he
had obeyed her words. he seemed to
sleep more deeply still. He must be
very tired, she thought, to sleep like
that. but she was thankful that the