“The faith which removes mountains is generally gained by experience
when it is gained at all, and the craving for explanation takes the
place, in some minds, of a willingness to learn. It is not my business
to find explanations, nor to raise my little self to your higher level,
by standing upon this curbstone, in order to deliver a lecture in the
popular form, upon matters that interest me. It is enough that I have
found what I wanted. Go and do likewise. See for yourself. You have
nothing to lose and everything to gain. You are unhappy, and unhappiness
is dangerous, in rare cases fatal. If you tell me to-morrow that Unorna
is a charlatan, you will be in no worse plight than to-day, nor will
your opinion of her influence mine. If she helps you to find what you
want--so much the better for you--how much the better, and how great the
risk you run, are questions for your judgment.”
“I will go,” answered the Wanderer, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Very good,” said Keyork Arabian. “If you want to find me again, come to
my lodging. Do you know the house of the Black Mother of God?”
“Yes--there is a legend about a Spanish picture of our Lady once
preserved there--”
“Exactly, it takes its name from that black picture. It is on the corner
of the Fruit Market, over against the window at which the Princess
Windischgratz was shot. I live in the upper story. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
CHAPTER IV
After the Wanderer had left her, Unorna continued to hold in her
hand the book she had again taken up, following the printed lines
mechanically from left to right, from the top of the page to the foot.
Having reached that point, however, she did not turn over the leaf. She
was vaguely aware that she had not understood the sense of the words,
and she returned to the place at which she had begun, trying to
concentrate her attention upon the matter, moving her fresh lips to form
the syllables, and bending her brows in the effort of understanding,
so that a short, straight furrow appeared, like a sharp vertical cut
extending from between the eyes to the midst of the broad forehead. One,
two and three sentences she grasped and comprehended; then her thoughts
wandered again, and the groups of letters passed meaningless before
her sight. She was accustomed to directing her intelligence without any
perceptible effort, and she was annoyed at being thus led away from her
occupation, against her will and in spite of her determination. A third
attempt showed her that it was useless to force herself any longer, and
with a gesture and look of irritation she once more laid the volume upon
the table at her side.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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