The Wanderer shook his head.

"He was ill and mad with pain," he answered. "He did not know what he
was doing. When he wakes, it will be different."

Unorna rose, and the Wanderer followed her.

"You cannot believe that I care," she said, as she resumed her seat. "He
is not you. My soul would not be the nearer to peace for a word of his."

For a long time she sat quite still, her hands lying idly in her lap,
her head bent wearily as though she bore a heavy burden.

"Can you not rest?" the Wanderer asked at length. "I can watch alone."

"No. I cannot rest. I shall never rest again."

The words came slowly, as though spoken to herself.

"Do you bid me go?" she asked after a time, looking up and seeing his
eyes fixed on her.

"Bid you go? In your own house?" The tone was one of ordinary courtesy.
Unorna smiled sadly.

"I would rather you struck me than that you spoke to me like that!" she
exclaimed. "You have no need of such civil forbearance with me. If you
bid me go, I will go. If you bid me stay, I will not move. Only speak
frankly. Say which you would prefer."

"Then stay," said the Wanderer simply.

She bowed her head slightly and was silent again. A distant clock chimed
the hour. The morning was slowly drawing near.

"And you," said Unorna, looking up at the sound. "Will you not rest? Why
should you not sleep?"

"I am not tired."

"You do not trust me, I think," she answered sadly. "And yet you
might--you might." Her voice died away dreamily.

"Trust you to watch that poor man? Indeed I do. You were not acting just
now, when you touched him so tenderly. You are in earnest. You will be
kind to him, and I thank you for it."

"And you yourself? Do you fear nothing from me, if you should sleep
before my eyes? Do you not fear that in your unconsciousness I might
touch you and make you more unconscious still and make you dream dreams
and see visions?"

The Wanderer looked at her and smiled incredulously, partly out of scorn
for the imaginary danger, and partly because something told him that she
had changed and would not attempt any of her witchcraft upon him.

"No," he answered. "I am not afraid of that."

"You are right," she said gravely. "My sins are enough already. The evil
is sufficient. Do as you will. If you can sleep, then sleep in peace. If
you will watch, watch with me."

Then neither spoke again. Unorna bent her head as she had done before.
The Wanderer leaned back resting comfortabl