“Fear? And what have I to fear? My body is beyond the fear of death, as my soul is beyond the hope of life. If it were to be done again I should be weak. I know I should. If you could know half of what the doing cost! But let that alone. I did it, and he is waiting for you. Will you come?” “If I only knew it to be true----” “How hard you make it. Yet, it was hard enough.” Beatrice touched her arm, more gently than before, and gazed into her eyes. “If I could believe it all I would not make it hard. I would forgive you--and you would deserve better than that, better than anything that is mine to give.” “I deserve nothing and ask nothing. If you will come, you will see, and, seeing, you will believe. And if you then forgive--well then, you will have done far more than I could do.” “I would forgive you freely----” “Are you afraid to go with me?” “No. I am afraid of something worse. You have put something here--a hope----” “A hope? Then you believe. There is no hope without a little belief in it. Will you come?” “To him?” “To him.” “It can but be untrue,” said Beatrice, still hesitating. “I can but go. What of him!” she asked suddenly. “If he were living--would you take me to him? Could you?” She turned very pale, and her eyes stared madly at Unorna. “If he were dead,” Unorna answered, “I should not be here.” Something in her tone and look moved Beatrice’s heart at last. “I will go with you,” she said. “And if I find him--and if all is well with him--then God in Heaven repay you, for you have been braver than the bravest I ever knew.” “Can love save a soul as well as lose it?” Unorna asked. Then they went away together. They were scarcely out of sight of the convent gate when another carriage drove up. Almost before it had stopped, the door opened and Keyork Arabian’s short, heavy form emerged and descended hastily to the pavement. He rang the bell furiously, and the old portress set the gate ajar and looked out cautiously, fearing that the noisy peal meant trouble or disturbance. “The lady Beatrice Varanger--I must see her instantly!” cried the little man in terrible excitement. “She is gone out,” the portress replied. “Gone out? Where? Alone?” “With a lady who was here last night--a lady with unlike eyes--” “Where? Where? Where are they gone?” asked Keyork hardly able to find breath. “The lady bade the coachman drive her home--but where she lives--” “Home? To Unorna’s home? It is not true! I see it in your eyes. Witch! Hag! Let me in! Let me in, I say! May vampires get your body and the Three Black Angels cast lots upon your soul!” In the storm of curses that followed, the convent door was violently shut in his face. Within, the portress stood shaking with fear, crossing herself again and again, and verily believing that the devil himself had tried to force an entrance into the sacred place. In fearful anger Keyork drew back. He hesitated one moment and then regained his carriage.