, but he, hearing her approach, quickened his
stride, seeming but little hampered in his pace by the burden he bore.
But Unorna, too, was fleet of foot and strong.

"Stop!" she cried, laying her hand upon his arm. "Stop! Hear me! Do not
leave me so!"

But he would not pause, and hurried onward towards the gate, while
she hung upon his arm, trying to hinder him and speaking in desperate
agitation. She felt that if she let him go now, he would leave her for
ever. In that moment even her hatred of Kafka sank into insignificance.
She would do anything, bear anything, promise anything rather than lose
what she loved so wildly.

"Stop!" she cried again. "I will save him--I will obey you--I will be
kind to him--he will die in your arms if you do not let me help you--oh!
for the love of Heaven, wait one moment! Only one moment!"

She so thrust herself in the Wanderer's path, hanging upon him and
trying to tear Kafka from his arms, that he was forced to stand still
and face her.

"Let me pass!" he exclaimed, making another effort to advance. But she
clung to him and he could not move.

"No,--I will not let you go," she murmured. "You can do nothing without
me, you will only kill him, as I would have done a moment ago--"

"And as you will do now," he said sternly, "if I let you have your way."

"By all that is Holy in Heaven, I will save him--he shall not even
remember--"

"Do not swear. I shall not believe you."

"You will believe when you see--you will forgive me--you will
understand."

Without answering he exerted his strength and clasping the insensible
man more firmly in his arms he made one or two steps forward. Unorna's
foot slipped on the frozen ground and she would have fallen to the
earth, but she clung to him with desperate energy. Seeing that she was
in danger of some bodily hurt if he used greater force, the Wanderer
stopped again, uncertain how to act; Unorna stood before him, panting a
little from the struggle, her face as white as death.

"Unless you kill me," she said, "you shall not take him away so. Hold
him in your arms, if you will, but let me speak to him."

"And how shall I know that you will not hurt him, you who hate him as
you do?"

"Am I not at your mercy?" asked Unorna. "If I deceive you, can you not
do what you will with me, even if I try to resist you, which I will not?
Hold me, if you choose, lest I should escape you, and if Israel Kafka
does not recover his strength and his consci