“One man need hardly give a reason for saving another man’s life. Yours is in danger.” “I see that you hate her, as she said you did.” “You and she are both mistaken in that. I am not in love with her and I have ceased to be her friend. As for my interest in you, it does not even pretend to be friendly--it is that which any man may feel for a fellow-being, and what any man would feel who had seen what I have seen this afternoon.” The calm bearing and speech of the experienced man of the world carried weight with it in the eyes of the young Moravian, whose hot blood knew little of restraint and less of caution; with the keen instinct of his race in the reading of character he suddenly understood that his companion was at once generous and disinterested. A burst of confidence followed close upon the conviction. “If I am to lose her love, I would rather lose my life also, and by her hand,” he said hotly. “You are warning me against her. I feel that you are honest and I see that you are in earnest. I thank you. If I am in danger, do not try to save me. I saw her face a few moments ago, and she spoke to me. I cannot believe that she is plotting my destruction.” The Wanderer was silent. He wondered whether it was his duty to do or say more. Unorna was a changeable woman. She might love the man to-morrow. But Israel Kafka was too young to let the conversation drop. Boy-like he expected confidence for confidence, and was surprised at his companion’s taciturnity. “What did she say to me when I was asleep?” he asked, after a short pause. “Did you ever hear the story of Simon Abeles?” the Wanderer inquired by way of answer. Kafka frowned and looked round sharply. “Simon Abeles? He was a renegade Hebrew boy. His father killed him. He is buried in the Teyn Kirche. What of him? What has he to do with Unorna, or with me? I am myself a Jew. The time has gone by when we Jews hid our heads. I am proud of what I am, and I will never be a Christian. What can Simon Abeles have to do with me?” “Little enough, now that you are awake.” “And when I was asleep, what then? She made me see him, perhaps?” “She made you live his life. She made you suffer all that he suffered--” “What?” cried Israel Kafka in a loud and angry tone. “What I say,” returned the other quietly. “And you did not interfere? You did not stop her? No, of course, I forgot that you are a Christian.”