any words which I may use
without offending your sense of fitness in language?"

"None which do not express a willing affirmation of all I say. I will
receive any original speech on your part at the point of the sword.
You have done enough damage to-day, without being allowed the luxury
of dismembering common sense. Seems, you say! By all that is unholy! By
Eblis, Ahriman, and the Three Black Angels! He is worse, and there is
no seeming. The heat is greater, the pulse is weaker, the heart flutters
like a sick bird."

Unorna's face showed her anxiety.

"I am sorry," she said, in a low voice.

"Sorry! No doubt you are. It remains to be seen whether your sorrow
can be utilized as a simple, or macerated in tears to make a tonic, or
sublimated to produce a corrosive which will destroy the canker, death.
But be sorry by all means. It occupies your mind without disturbing
me, or injuring the patient. Be sure that if I can find an active
application for your sentiment, I will give you the rare satisfaction of
being useful."

"You have the art of being the most intolerably disagreeable of living
men when it pleases you."

"When you displease me, you should say. I warn you that if he dies--our
friend here--I will make further studies in the art of being unbearable
to you. You will certainly be surprised by the result."

"Nothing that you could say or do would surprise me."

"Indeed? We shall see."

"I will leave you to your studies, then. I have been here too long as it
is."

She moved and arranged the pillow under the head of the sleeping giant
and adjusted the folds of his robe. Her touch was tender and skilful in
spite of her ill-suppressed anger. Then she turned away and went towards
the door. Keyork Arabian watched her until her hand was upon the latch.
His sharp eyes twinkled, as though he expected something amusing to
occur.

"Unorna!" he said, suddenly, in an altered voice. She stopped and looked
back.

"Well?"

"Do not be angry, Unorna. Do not go away like this."

Unorna turned, almost fiercely, and came back a step.

"Keyork Arabian, do you think you can play upon me as on an instrument?
Do you suppose that I will come and go at your word like a child--or
like a dog? Do you think you can taunt me at one moment, and flatter me
the next, and find my humour always at your command?"

The gnome-like little man looked down, made a sort of inclination of his
short body, and laid his hand upon his heart.