her hand once more. "If it
is to be that, I will go alone."

There seemed to be no way out of the terrible dilemma, and the Wanderer
stood still in deep thought. He knew that if he could but free himself
from her for half an hour, he could get help from the right quarter and
take Israel Kafka red-handed and armed as he was. For the man was caught
as in a trap and must stay there until he was released, and there would
be little doubt from his manner, when taken, that he was either mad or
consciously attempting some crime. There was no longer any necessity,
he thought, for Unorna to take refuge anywhere for more than an hour. In
that time Israel Kafka would be in safe custody, and she could re-enter
her house with nothing to fear. But he counted without Unorna's
unyielding obstinacy. She threatened if he left her for a moment to
go back to Israel Kafka. A few minutes earlier she had carried out her
threat and the consequence had been almost fatal.

"If you are in your right mind," he said at last, beginning to walk
towards the corner, "you will see that what you wish to do is utterly
against reason. I will not allow you to run the risk of meeting Israel
Kafka to-night, but I cannot take you with me. No--I will hold you,
if you try to escape me, and I will bring you to a place of safety by
force, if need be."

"And you will leave me there, and I shall never see you again. I will
not go, and you will find it hard to take me anywhere in the crowded
city by force. You are not Israel Kafka, with the whole Jews' quarter at
your command in which to hide me."

The Wanderer was perplexed. He saw, however, that if he would yield the
point and give his word to return to her, she might be induced to follow
his advice.

"If I promise to come back to you, will you do what I ask?" he inquired.

"Will you promise truly?"

"I have never broken a promise yet."

"Did you promise that other woman that you would never love again, I
wonder? If so, you are faithful indeed. But you have forgotten that.
Will you come back to me if I let you take me where I shall be safe
to-night?"

"I will come back whenever you send for me."

"If you fail, my blood is on your head."

"Yes--on my head be it."

"Very well. I will go to that house where I first stayed when I came
here. Take me there quickly--no--not quickly either--let it be very
long! I shall not see you until to-morrow."

A carriage was passing at a foot pace. The Wanderer stopp